


a cheap shot, a clean miss

by iv (ivan)



Series: your love was handmade for somebody like me [3]
Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Con Artist AU, F/M, Light BDSM, Orgasm Denial, it all starts out as a lie until it stops being a lie, tease and denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/iv
Summary: in this one, oswald cobblepot was adopted by martha wayne; and vicki vale needed something extra to convince him to join her. charlie is a heartbreaker for hire; vicki hires her to seduce oswald, enabling vale to expose her lies and wrap cobblepot around her finger. except this is gotham city; and nothing is ever simple.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> this one took me about a month. thanks, depression! <3  
> it also stars a newcomer - alice o'keefe, by my delightful friend lila!

“Get out.”

Oswald’s words hurt worse than any slap she ever received did; she stared at him in disbelief, trying to find any words at all. He had every right to be angry; furious, even. She knew it was going to happen, she knew it from the start - but it didn’t make the situation any less painful.

That’s what she agreed on. That was all part of the deal; but it still hurt. It was still more than she bargained for.

“Oswald... “ she said faintly, feeling hot tears welling up in her eyes; her vision was slowly getting blurry and she could feel a tight lump in her throat choking her.

“No.” he said quietly; he looked and sounded tired, defeated, resigned. “Don’t say it. Don’t say my name. Don’t say it ever again.”

“Goodbye.” she finally choked out; so that was it. The end. One last farewell - and she’d get paid.

“Leave.” he said, turning away from her. “Please.”

So she did, quietly, without saying another word; and she only started crying once she was at Selina’s place. She found Oswald’s silk tie in the pocket of her coat; and that was what tipped her over the edge.

“Uh oh.” the thief said after seeing the state Charlie was in. “I know this look.”

“I fucked _up_.” Charlie said tearfully. “What should I do now, Cat?”

“I dunno, kitten. I never… I usually don’t grow too attached to them.” Selina said cautiously, sitting down next to her. “I’m a method actress - once everything’s said and done… It’s still just an _act_.”

“I fucked him over, Sel.” Charlie sobbed out. “And now… Now he’s going to be involved in whatever mess is going to happen.”

“That’s the shitty part of the job. Most often we end up screwing the good guys over, for the sake of the… Less than perfect ones.” Selina sighed, and Charlie sighed through tears. “It might be wise for you to skip town now. You know. Now that Cobblepot’s… In a bad place.”

“You think he might come for _me_?” Charlie asked, sniffing.

It didn’t seem like that bad of an option, honestly; her heart hurt. She broke it herself; it was in sharp pieces. She did something truly reprehensible - maybe even on par with what the others did to him. She had a vague idea of what’s going to happen next; so maybe she deserved to have her blood spilt. Maybe she deserved to die.

“You’re out of your mind.” Selina declared after Charlie voiced her opinion. “See, _this_ is why you should skip town. Let’s assume he would do this - that he’d come for you. With a gun. He’d _kill_ you - and you’d _let_ him. Leave Gotham now, kitten. Come back once this shitstorm had passed.”

“I can’t.” Charlie sniffed. “I have to wait for my payment.”

In that moment, her phone buzzed; it was an email, containing every single piece of information her employer promised her. It was everything she needed - everything she needed to leave this life behind and start anew.

Somehow it didn’t feel good, finally learning what happened to her family’s fortune; somehow it didn’t feel like a way out, like a path to a new beginning.

But hey - she got paid. She didn’t only get the information; she got her paycheck as well. Enough money to buy her a ticket out of Gotham; enough money for a one shot at revenge.

“Fine.” she said with a sigh. “I… I’ll leave tomorrow. What about _you_ though?”

“I still have some job to do. Oh, _come on_.” Selina added, seeing Charlie’s heartbroken expression. “We’ll find each other, kitten. We always do.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Selina said firmly; and Charlie smiled through tears.

She spent the night trying to _not_ think about Oswald Cobblepot, the man whose heart she broke, the man whose heartbreak bought her a shot at revenge; but it was hard, to not think about his eyes and his voice and his laughter and his breath on her skin and the way he’d kiss her. It was hard, pretending he’s not on her mind; it was hard, pretending he never meant anything to her.

She left Gotham the next day, at the break of dawn; on the airport she saw fliers advertising an upcoming exhibit in the Cobblepot Gallery. She took one absentmindedly; she knew he designed and wrote it himself. He was a man of many talents; and he liked playing with colors and words almost as much as he liked…

She caught herself thinking about the many things Oswald liked. He had an expensive taste, and a taste for violence against people who were destroying Gotham; he also liked fresh coffee and lazy mornings in bed, electro swing and lemonade, kissing and being kissed.

She spent the long flight from Gotham to Melbourne rubbing more salt into her wounds; she spent it thinking about every kiss, every word, every smile, every thing he made her feel, and how her heart skipped a beat when she heard that first _I think I’ve developed feelings for you_ and realized that one thing she had never planned for finally happened.

***

It all started a couple of years ago; Charlie’s parents mysteriously died, and all of her inheritance - equally mysteriously - disappeared along with her fiance, Harry. Charlie was left penniless, heartbroken and alone; and that's when she met Selina - a woman who always knew how to survive. Selina saw something in Charlie, something strong, something fiery - some odd willingness to do whatever it might take to survive.

So she took her in, taught her a few things; Charlie wasn't a great burglar - but she was charming. Beautiful. Intelligent. She wasn't a great burglar - but she still was a fine thief. While Selina stole jewels and art, Charlie specialized in less material treasures - unwritten secrets, hearts, time.

She was a professional heartbreaker - a destroyer of lives, as some called her. She used her charms and the art of seduction to... Do whatever her contractor wanted her to, really. Sometimes she simply was a distraction, making sure an elderly ceo pays no attention to a hostile takeover. Sometimes she was expected to break someone's heart, teach them a lesson.

Oswald Cobblepot was supposed to be just another job; the last one, since the person contracting her claimed they know the full story of what happened to her family and where did her inheritance go. Naturally she accepted the offer - even though she knew that even after getting her money back she'll have to be careful. She made many enemies, broke many hearts; but money could buy her security and safety. Or a private island. Bodyguards weren't really an option - everyone has their price, a price that could easily be topped.

When getting a new job - target, contract, whatever - Charlie never asked _why_ ; usually the people hiring her were very chatty on their own. She heard it all, every possible motive; broken heart, violated trust, deception. People were eager to tell her their stories - and she was eager to listen, since it usually helped her build her strategy. Every job was different, every needed some personal touch.

The person hiring her to break Cobblepot’s heart didn’t give her a _why_ \- and she didn’t appear to be angry. Her voice was calm, as if she was buying bread at the grocery store, not ordering a man’s heart to be shattered; but Charlie decided to not think about it too much. Maybe she was doing it for someone else. Maybe she wasn’t personally involved. Maybe Oswald Cobblepot broke the heart of someone dear to her; or maybe he _stole_ someone dear to her from her.

“Alright, I’m game.” Charlie said, absentmindedly tapping at the surface of the table with her fingertips; she and the woman hiring her - Victoria, as she introduced herself - were sitting inside a seedy bar near the Gotham docks. Charlie came to Gotham with Selina; the cat burglar got some mysterious, lucrative job there - and soon after both women settled down in their equally crappy apartments Charlie was contacted by Victoria.

The woman clearly knew her way around the criminal underground, considering she knew how to contact Charlie in the first place - with time, Charlie had learned to be careful. To move around without leaving any loose threads or breadcrumbs for anyone to follow. She learned that from Selina - she learned a _lot_ from Selina.

“I’m game.” she repeated. “But I should warn you first. I’m not cheap.”

“I know.” Victoria said calmly. “It’s a shame I’m not rich then.”

Charlie sighed.

“Then I’m not going to do it.” she said, reaching for her backpack. “You know how it is.”

“A girl has to eat.” Victoria said lazily; and something in her expression kept Charlie from getting up and walking out. “I may not be a millionaire… But at least _listen_ to my offer, yeah?”

“Alright.” Charlie replied cautiously. “There _are_ cheaper people in the business though.”

“I can’t even afford the cheaper ones.” Victoria said carelessly, and Charlie raised her eyebrows. “What I _can_ afford though… Is a plane ticket to truth.”

“Cheesy.” Charlie said calmly, trying to hide the cold shiver that ran down her spine. “Would you mind getting to the point?”

“I’m a journalist.” Victoria said, playing with a paper napkin. “I don’t make a lot of money, but I’m _great_ at finding information. Investigating, getting to the bottom of things, following the trail… However you call it - I’m great at it.”

“Go on.” Charlie said slowly, already knowing where is the conversation going; and she wasn’t wrong.

Victoria smirked proudly.

“I know who _you_ are.” she said finally. “Charlotte… A pretty name. A shame your parents decided to ruin it with all those _other_ names.”

“Not so loud.” Charlie said faintly; Victoria grinned.

“I know who you are.” she continued, in a much quieter tone. “Like I said - I’m great at investigating. And, admit it… It’d be a shame if any of the men you already worked on got those informations, right? Some of them seem… Resentful.”

Charlie looked at the woman without a word, and nodded quietly; Victoria scoffed.

“Oh, cheer up. Threats are not _everything_ I’ve got up my sleeve.”

“Right.” Charlie muttered, trying to collect herself. “So, I know what happens if I… Refuse. Assuming I _don’t_ … What’s in it for me?”

“The whereabouts of the man responsible for the untimely death of your parents.” Victoria said calmly, and Charlie blinked. “Oh, don’t look at me like _this_. Do you want a forward payment?”

“Yes.” Charlie choked out; this was the first time someone had put her in a situation like _this_. She was angry at herself, for not covering her tracks better - now she was between a rock and a hard place, and the only way out was to either agree to Victoria’s deal, or to kill her.

And Charlie was no killer.

“The man responsible for what happened is named Alexander Krill.” Victoria said calmly. “That’s his original name. During his life, he took on many pseudonyms - such as Harry Spencer.”

She smirked seeing Charlie’s expression.

“And this is _all_ you’re hearing from me for now.” she added, sliding a flash drive across the table. “Because I’m assuming… You’re in.”

Charlie didn’t move, only glancing at the drive.

“Tell me the details.” she finally said. “What _exactly_ do you want me to do?”

“This is not about corporate espionage.” Victoria replied calmly. “Or revenge. I only want… Half of your service.”

“I’m not an escort.” Charlie protested; and Victoria waved her hand.

“I’m well aware. I want you to get close to him. I want him to trust you. I’m not saying I want you to _stay_ with him. Just do your job… And someone _else_ will break his heart.”

“Right.” Charlie sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“I know.” Victoria said with a nod. “Take this drive. “There’s… Well. I don’t know what information you _need_ , so I just dumped _everything_ I had on the man there.”

“The more, the better.” Charlie muttered, pocketing the drive. “Do I have a deadline?”

“Not quite. I want the heartbreak to be _real_.” the other woman replied; and something in her eyes sent an unpleasant shiver down Charlie’s spine. “Remember - he has to _trust_ you.”

“He will.” Charlie sighed. “They always do.”

Victoria shot her a shark-like smile.

“Oswald Cobblepot is known for _not_ being a playboy.” she said; and Charlie sighed again. Of course. “He’s a gentleman, a sweet-talker, an all-around charming guy… But so far it seems like no one had been able to conquer his heart.”

“Or maybe he just prefers to keep his affairs private.”

“ _What_ affairs?” Victoria countered, shaking her head. “As far as I’m concerned - he doesn’t have those. So, you know. Good luck.”

Victoria left, satisfied by her victory; and Charlie left shortly afterwards, the drive filled with informations on Oswald Cobblepot heavy like a brick in her pocket.

The woman wasn’t lying; she really put _everything_ in there - and it was _a lot_ of informations. Clearly a lot of time and effort went into gathering those - probably a lot of following Cobblepot around, a lot of asking just the right questions to people he interacted with, a lot of going through his trash. His habits, personality, preferences - it was all there, exposed and bare. It was chilling, reading about all those small things no one probably even paid attention to; but Victoria - for whatever reason - did.

And Charlie kept on reading, thinking about how is she going to play this one out, which pieces of information should be remembered and which should be disregarded. She kept glancing at the attached photos; Cobblepot was a relatively handsome man, with honest eyes and disarming smile. It was obvious he’s hiding something - everyone in the spotlight does have something they keep hidden. Sometimes it’s small, like being terrified of spiders; sometimes it’s much bigger, like enjoying snuff films.

She saw this secret he was hiding in his eyes, and the mysterious scar running across the bridge of his nose, and the way he always seemed to be on high alert in pictures, attentive and tense. He was hiding _something -_ and she had no idea what is it, but she didn’t need to know. If she played her cards right - she’d find out.

And it seemed like the odds are in her favor. Getting into the good graces of someone whose preferences didn’t quite align with her form wasn’t a challenge for her anyway - but naturally, she preferred getting to men she didn’t have to work hard on. She learned to appreciate easy victories very fast - and it seemed like Cobblepot may not be that hard to conquer, after all. He didn’t have any romantic affairs; but he frequently visited an establishment belonging to Fish Mooney, called the Iceberg. It was an exclusive club for people with particular sexual preferences - nothing illegal, just expensive and outside of the vanilla side of the spectrum. Victoria got to Cobblepot’s favorite person working at the Iceberg; and she squeezed a lot out of her.

It was time to get to work; so Charlie called Selina, the file from Vale still open on her laptop. It was time to get to work - and since it was supposed to be her _last_ job, Charlie decided she might as well start big.

***

It all started with a burglary - sort of.

Selina was the one doing all the breaking in and stealing - Charlie only tagged along for the sake of getting Cobblepot’s attention. She decided to start big - to corner him in his art gallery, since he had a habit of staying up late, doing god knows what.

Selina didn’t seem to be exactly on board with her plan.

“Seduction through burglary? Christ, kitten.”

“It’s the ultimate unachievable fantasy!” Charlie said defensively, to which Selina raised her eyebrows skeptically. “A mysterious and seductive stranger. Who _wouldn’t_ play along?”

“Someone with a bit of common sense?” Selina suggested, and Charlie scoffed. “And Cobblepot seems to be a reasonable man. He’s not going to play along.”

“He _will_ play along.” Charlie said stubbornly, putting her wig on. “If not… I’ll think of something else. Maybe I’ll bump into him on the street and spill coffee over his shirt.”

“From seductive burglary to the oldest trick in the book.” Selina sighed. “Humor me. What _exactly_ is your plan here?”

“We break into his gallery.” Charlie said, putting her mask on. “You… Steal whatever. Didn’t you mention wanting something new to hang on a wall?”

“I did.”

“Right. So _you_ steal yourself some art - all while _I_ have a tête-à-tête with Cobblepot. I gotta play on what he likes and what he’s used to. I need to… Get his full attention. Do you know what’s the key to seduction?”

“Wine?” Selina suggested, and Charlie shot her a disgruntled look. “Oh, come on, cut me some slack. Seduction is not the bread and butter of _my_ trade.”

“The key to seduction is to leave the other person wanting more.” Charlie continued. “So… That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get his attention, pique his interest… And leave.”

“And _then_ what?”

“And then I’m going to keep doing this, until I have him wrapped around my finger.” Charlie said with a shrug. “He’s rich. People like him… They’re usually easily manipulated through things they _can’t_ have. It’s new. It’s unusual. Mind boggling.”

“You know, I really think you should _start_ with bumping into him on the street.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

And it was settled; and before long - Charlie was in Cobblepot’s office in his art gallery. For someone who was being held at a gunpoint and robbed, he was rather calm - even if the way he was staring at her was unnerving.

What was even more unnerving was probably the fact he clearly hadn’t been listening to her; it was frustrating, considering she had a nice little speech prepared, playing on his vanity.

“Are you listening to me?”

"What?" he asked, blinking a few times. "Oh. Yes, yes, of course."

"...so tell me, what did I just say?"

"...that the key to making a perfect souffle is to use room temperature eggs?" he asked; and the corners of her lips twitched in a smile underneath the cotton mask she was wearing.

"...this is a robbery, handsome." she finally said, accentuating the last word - because god damn he _was_ handsome. The pictures didn’t quite do him justice; and Charlie thought he might be one of her few jobs that’ll bring her some actual, genuine pleasure.

She tied him up - and he didn’t put up a fight, instead only pointing out the fact she’s using a bondage technique on him.

“Yup.” she said, making him sit back down in his chair. Tying him up felt odd, but nice; he was wearing a _very_ nice shirt, and he wasn’t bulky - and he looked at her over his shoulder as she was struggling with knots and loops and his expression told her he _is_ going to play along.

“Be quiet now.” she added. “I have plenty of duct tape, and am not afraid of using it.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” he assured her, leaning back in his chair. “By the way, you have a lovely voice.”

Once again she was grateful for the cheap, cotton mask covering the lower half of her face - because he actually made her _blush_.

“You can’t flirt your way out of the robbery.” she said with amusement; he shrugged and she couldn’t help but notice he actually smells nice.

“But I can _try_.” he said. “Is it working?”

“Not really, no.” she said; it kind of _was_ working.

“You’re wearing some nice perfume.” he said, and she smiled with satisfaction; it was a custom-made scent, one of her many baits. “Chanel?”

“Nope.” she said, sitting down on the surface of his desk; she rested her right foot at the edge of his seat, while allowing the other one to dangle freely. “I told you to be quiet.”

“But you haven’t gagged me.” he said with a shrug. “So I’ve assumed… You don’t mind the chatter. Do you?”

“One day someone might cut out this silver tongue of yours, you know.”

“That’d be a national tragedy.” he said cheerfully. “And not just because I’m a sweet talker. Wink.”

She laughed; he smiled with satisfaction.

“You’re cute.” she finally said; and she meant it.

She lightly grazed the inside of his thigh with her shoe, not taking her eyes off him; and he stared right back.

“Who _are_ you?” he finally asked. “I know you’re a thief, but-”

“All in due time.” she interrupted him; he nodded, _hopefully_ having picked up on the signal he _is_ going to meet her again.

“Kitten!” Selina called out to her. “I’m done!”

“Coming!” Charlie replied; she pulled Cobblepot’s chair closer to the desk with her leg.

“What are you _doing_?” he asked as she began untying his tie.

“Stealing.” she replied, pocketing his silk tie. “I like silk.”

She lightly brushed his neck with her fingertips, and he gulped.

“You’re handsome.” she finally said. “Mind if I steal something _else_ from you?”

“Not at all, no.” he replied almost instantly; his eagerness was endearing, and she laughed. Her silly plan seemed to be working.

She slid her mask off and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

“That’s it?” he asked after she slid off his desk.

“For now.” she said, leaving the room; she was feeling oddly excited, and her heart was beating faster than usual.

 _Adrenaline. It’s probably just adrenaline_.

(It was not just adrenaline; and thinking about the way Cobblepot looked at her sent shivers down her spine. His eyes were no longer honest and bright; they were darker and were hiding some sort of a promise.)

***

She had waited for a couple days before making her next move; and eventually - an opportunity presented itself.

Oswald Cobblepot was looking for a personal assistant; and she applied, knowing there’s a very high probability of the offer being actually a bait.

She put on her best coy mask for the sake of the interview; it was conducted by Cobblepot himself - who insisted on having the last say in everything - and his soon-to-be previous assistant.

He recognized her as soon as he caught the first whiff of her perfume - she could see it in his eyes, that spark of recognition. She shot him an innocent smile as the other woman was introducing her; Cobblepot was wearing a tie identical to the one she stole from him, and he looked like he had quite a few sleepless nights recently.

Charlie sat behind the table, answering questions and presenting her - mostly fake - qualities, occasionally glancing at Oswald Cobblepot and blinking innocently when he asked her if she’d consider herself _a straightforward person._

“To a degree, yes.” she said, crossing her legs. “But it all depends on the situation.”

Eventually they were left alone for a moment; and Cobblepot locked the door, before coming back to his seat.

“Well, well, well.” he muttered, looking at her with his eyes half closed. “ _Kitten_.”

“Oh, _you_ don’t get to call me that.” she shot back; he shrugged.

“I wouldn’t call you that if I knew your _name_.”

“Charlotte.” she said, lightly tapping at her printed out CV with her fingernail; since he was going to be her last job - she decided to not bother with fake identities. She was beginning to lose track of them anyway. “Or Charlie.”

“Alright, Charlie.” he said - and something inside of her tensed up as he spoke her name. It wasn’t bad, or even unpleasant - but she reacted to it, and it rang in her ears, and she wanted to hear him say it again. And a couple more times, for a good measure. “Let’s cut to the chase. _Why_ are you here?”

“Let’s just say I feel _terrible_ about the way our first meeting went.” she said with a shrug.

“Really? And your presence here has _nothing_ to do with me being devilishly handsome? How disappointing.” he said with a theatrical scowl; and she smiled, almost feeling bad about the inevitable heartbreak.

“You have to _earn_ compliments from me, mister Cobblepot.” she said softly; and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why so shocked? You said it yourself - let’s cut to the chase.”

“Is this your idea of seduction, miss…”

He paused for a moment, taking a quick look at her resume.

“Miss Spencer?”

“Maybe so. Is it working, mister Cobblepot?”

She looked at him with a soft smile; he cleared his throat and fixed his tie.

“What game are you playing, miss Spencer?” he finally asked. “First you break into my gallery, filled with absolutely _priceless_ works - and you steal… Honestly, I can’t even recall what _exactly_ you stole.” he suddenly admitted. “All modern pieces look the same to me.”

“Don’t ask me, _I_ didn’t steal _anything_.” she said defensively. “My friend roped me into helping them.”

“...right. And you showing up here has _nothing_ to do with that robbery?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Also, you _did_ steal something. My _tie_.”

“A girl has to eat.” she said softly. “Come on, mister Cobblepot. Give me a second first chance.”

He sighed heavily; she looked at him attentively. She didn’t feel like she’s in control of the situation anymore; it was mildly annoying.

“This is a _very_ confusing situation.” Cobblepot finally said. “I think I might need a few days to make some sense out of it.”

She nodded silently.

“But, until then…”

He typed something on his phone, glancing at her resume.

“I’ll call you.” he finally said, and she shot him a bright smile. “This is confusing. _You_ are confusing.”

“I’m not confusing.”

“You’re _very_ confusing.” he added, getting up. “Please don’t break into my gallery again.”

“Alright, I won’t.” she agreed; she meant it. There was no _point_ in doing so again - she already got his attention, piqued his interest. Plus she had a feeling she might not be able to convince Selina to help her out again; Catwoman was a strong opponent of breaking twice into the same place. “So… Bye for now?”

“For now.”

***

He called her three days later, as she was buying some bread - but his number was hidden, so she only learned who’s talking after very firmly informing him she does not want any new stainless steel pots.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Oswald Cobblepot said, sounding amused - and her heart skipped a beat. Naturally, she did plan for a situation where he never calls her, deciding that a woman who initiates a relationship by breaking into his art gallery is too much for him to handle - but it still felt nice to hear his voice.

 _Professionally_ nice, that is.

“Does it mean you’re not going to buy me stainless steel pots? Aw. I like cookware… As long as I don’t have to _pay_ for it.”

“I’ll keep _that_ in mind as well.” he said and she stood there, in the bread alley of a grocery store, smiling to her phone for some ungodly reason. “Are you… Free this weekend?”

“Are you… Asking me out?” she asked, more hesitantly than she was going to.

“Yes.” he replied casually. “Because that was your goal, right? My attention. My interest. And let’s just say… I feel like playing with fire.” he said carelessly, and she furrowed her brows. “As you can probably imagine - my life is _not_ very thrilling. So I thought - might as well give in to the charms of a flirty burglar!”

Something definitely felt fishy - like the fact he literally described Charlie’s plan to her, word for word. It sounded as if he _knew_ he’s being played - and decided to play his part regardless.

Charlie decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and to not overthink the situation - maybe her burglar schtick _really_ worked. Oswald Cobblepot was still just a man - adopted and brought up by millionaires, sheltered in a bubble, just a bit vain, just a bit naive. He said it himself - his life wasn’t all that interesting. Maybe she accidentally found a shortcut.

“Do you always talk so much?” she asked; he laughed.

“I like to see how much talking it takes for someone to get tired of me.” he said. “Why, did I find _your_ hard limit of tolerance for my voice?”

“No.” she said; his voice wasn’t terrible. Sure, he talked a lot - but people who _just_ talk a lot stopped phasing her years ago. “To be honest, I’m _very_ far from being fed up with your voice.”

“Trying to charm me out of my pants, miss Spencer?”

“Maybe.” she said; she felt an unpleasant sting in her heart. She used her missing fiance’s surname as her own for years now; she used it so often she sometimes forgot it’s _not_ her actual surname, that she’s a Schiller-Aberdeen, not a Spencer. She heard people refer to her as _miss Spencer_ very often - but that was the first time in a long while it made her feel something.

It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t nice. Somehow it made her realize she didn’t _like_ going by _Charlie Spencer_ ; somehow it made her realize she’d like to have people use her actual name once again.

“Well, that’s a new.” Cobblepot said, bringing her back to Earth. “A first.”

“You mean I’m the first person ever to try and charm you out of your pants?” she asked, thinking about his alleged lack of known affairs; he laughed.

“Heavens, no, _of course_ not.” he said; he sounded genuinely amused, and for a moment - she could see his (pleasantly handsome) face right in front of her. “Plenty people hit on me, believe it or not. But usually they’re _not_ so honest about only being interested in getting me out of my clothes.”

“I never said this is the _only_ thing I’m interested in. It’s high on the list, sure - but the list doesn’t _end_ there.” she said lightly. She couldn’t care less about him as a person, and she couldn’t care less about what he thinks; but he seemed to believe she does care. And that was all that mattered. “You wanted to know if I’m free this weekend..?”

“What? Oh, right!” he remembered. “Right. So - are you?”

“Depends. Did I get the job?” she asked, anxiously playing with her sleeve. Much of her strategy of earning Cobblepot’s actual, genuine trust hinged on being around him as much as possible - but it had to be natural. She already showed up in his life in an odd way once - now everything had to be natural, to avoid him getting suspicious.

“That depends.” he said; and she winced briefly. “Wait, no, again. This sounded… Bad.”

“It did.” she agreed. “You’re not trying to… _Blackmail_ me into going out with you, are you?”

She could work with that.

Her plan regarding gaining his trust involved a whole different dynamic - but she could let him believe he has her wrapped around his finger. She could work with that. He was still just a man.

“No, I’m not.” he said, and she quietly sighed with relief. “And are _you_ trying to seduce me into hiring you?”

“Me? I would _never_.” she said, trying to sound offended. “Would it even work? I mean, you’re obviously used to people trying this, you’re most likely _smarter_ than this…”

He laughed.

“Trying to play on my vanity?”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“Well, you can consider yourself hired. Now the question is… When can you _start_. You know. To avoid making things… Unprofessional and awkward.”

She smiled lightly. He sounded awkward and tense - more like a high schooler trying to muster up the courage to ask his crush out, than one of the more powerful men in Gotham, trying to set up a weekend date. It was also obvious he’s trying to avoid coming off as a creepy boss of sorts - and she appreciated it almost as much as she didn’t care. It was obvious he’s craving her company - and she knew exactly what is he going to suggest once she officially becomes his assistant. He probably thought he’s being very clever and cunning, working his way around the workplace awkwardness - but he wasn’t. Charlie had been in this exact situation at least five times already; but she didn’t exactly mind.

(Well, maybe a bit. Victoria quite clearly communicated she wants her to get into Cobblepot’s good graces _quick_ ; and Cobblepot’s apparent plan could be an obstacle.)

“Whenever you need me to.” she said. “But, since you’re trying to ask me out… How about me starting next week?”

The woman looking at bread next to her shot her a scandalized look; and Charlie couldn’t blame her.

“Splendid!” he said, sounding relieved. “Just come to the gallery in the morning, and I’ll… Show you the ropes.”

“Shouldn’t your current assistant be the one teaching me how to do my job?”

“She already left the country, so I’m on my own for the next few days.” he admitted. “Truth is, I’m managing _perfectly_ fine without an assistant - but you know how it is. People _want_ me to have one. So… Your job’s not going to be all that absorbing. Hell, if you want, you could probably even get a second job, and I wouldn’t mind. Something like… Email customer service. Or web administration. Or journalism.”

“I get it!” she said quickly as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. “Honestly, considering you think you _have_ the time for this conversation… I’d say you’re in desperate need of someone competent to take over your schedule. And, speaking of your schedule…”

Her phone beeped frantically; she forgot to plug it in for charging last night, and it was kind of old, its battery draining fast.

“My phone’s about to _die_ on me.” she informed Cobblepot, finally grabbing some white bread; she was sure whoever’s watching the store’s monitoring had already called the cops on the young woman who’s been standing motionless for a long while now, just staring at bread. “So, about this weekend…”

“I could get us a reservation somewhere nice.” he suggested; and she sighed quietly.

Her modus operandi was centered around avoiding doing anything in public - she didn’t need the attention of the press. And quite often, the man whose hearts she was paid to break - were in the spotlight. She didn’t deal in hearts of true kingpins and bigwigs, since she kind of valued her life and the obscurity of her real, actual identity; but Oswald Cobblepot - the foster brother of Bruce Wayne, the owner of Gotham’s most renowned art gallery, a would-be Gotham’s prodigal son - was _just_ her caliber. Not exactly a celebrity - always on the edge of his life becoming a public matter. If she went to a fancy restaurant with him - someone would notice. Someone would wonder _who is this woman, accompanying him_? Someone would snap a picture, and this picture would eventually find a way to someone determined to get back on her for breaking his heart, or for assisting in bringing his downfall.

No, literally going out was out of question - but maybe for the better. Plenty rich and powerful men didn’t suspect a thing, when a pretty girl didn’t want to make anything public; if she played her cards right - and she always did - they simply fought they finally found the right one, a genuine one, not a gold-digger, someone after them and their heart, instead of their money and fame.

(They weren’t _purely_ wrong; that was the funny part. Or the sad one.)

“It’s a shame I don’t have anything nice to wear then.” she said softly; that wasn’t entirely a lie. Due to being mostly broke, she had to switch from wearing designer, elegant clothes to retail chain ones. Most of the money she made went into groceries and moving around - with some occasional self care splurges, such as lingerie. Or bath bombs. Or toys. A girl has to eat; but sometimes a girl also has to dress up in satin and lace and fuck herself with a dildo for a couple hours. And since Charlie wasn’t called _Selina Kyle -_ dildos and lace costed money.

“Ah, that’s not really a problem.” Cobblepot said. “We can do it in private. _Stop laughing_!” he added in a panicked voice as someone laughed in the background. “So. My place, your place..?”

“My place.” she said, thinking about the shitty part of Gotham she was currently living in. “I’d rather not walk around the town in the middle of the night. _You_ seem like you can defend yourself. Me? Someone pulls out a knife - and I pass out.”

“Throwing me to the vultures already? Alright.” he said lightly. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Her phone beeped again, more urgently.

“Let’s meet on Saturday.” she said quickly. “At seven.”

“Do you want me to b-”

Her phone died before he finished his question; and she stood there, with a dead - and slightly overheated - phone pressed to her ear, and a faint smile still lost in the corners of her mouth.

Once she got back home, she plugged her phone in for charging - and reached for her other one. Like every self-respecting con artist, Charlie had two phones - one for the sake of people she was working _on,_ the other one for the sake of people she was working _with_. A private number only the chosen few knew; she never contacted her clients via phone, and only gave her number out to people she truly trusted, like Selina.

And right now - after inviting Cobblepot over for dinner - she really, truly needed Selina’s assistance.

“You can cook, right?” she asked as soon as Selina picked up. “I need your help with Cobblepot.”

“Last time you said you need my help with Cobblepot we ended up breaking into his gallery.” Selina replied. “So what is it this time? Trying to drug him?”

“I don’t need to feed him in order to drug him.” Charlie scoffed.

(She meant it; she always carried two bottles of her signature scent with her. One was normal - the other one was laced with some extra ingredients. Nothing strong, or even particularly addicting - but it did render people more vulnerable. And vulnerability was what she preyed on.)

“Buut… I _did_ tell him to come over for dinner.” she finally sighed; and Selina laughed. “I _know_! But I can’t go out with him, because he’d take me to a five star restaurant - and I can’t go to _his_ place. Not yet, anyway. He’d probably think I’m after his wallet, or whatever expensive stuff he’s keeping there. Now? Now he probably thinks I’m after his dick.”

“Oh, kitten.” Selina choked out. “Do you want a sentence-by-sentence analysis of everything you just said?”

“No.” Charlie muttered. “But I’m going to anyway.”

“Restaurants can only have three stars, kitten. In the Michelin guide, at least.”

“...right.” she said quietly; and she felt a ridiculously unpleasant sting in her chest. Back in the day - back when she still had everything, back when she still had her parents - she frequently visited various Michelin restaurants. She used to know everything about the ranking; she used to know everything about luxury.

And now pieces of this useless knowledge were gone; another bits of her old life gone, another reminders of who she used to be, of what she used to have. It felt almost as bad as it did back when she had to sell some of her mother’s jewelry; priceless mementos, gone forever.

(She often got sad about small things like this.)

But now was not the time to be sad; now was the time to ask Selina for help. Miss Kyle looked like a hot mess - despite having her life in order. No matter where they went, Selina’s place was always littered with takeout boxes, and her fridge was almost empty - but when given a chance, she was actually a great cook. She didn’t _enjoy_ cooking - not in the slightest - but she was still good at it. Selina claimed it’s because she was once hired to steal something from a woman running a cooking school; she enrolled for the time being, considering it to be the easiest way of getting closer to her target. She aced every class; and hated every single moment she spent there.

“So I need your help.” Charlie said quickly. “Remember that one time I had to move in with you for a couple days, because I forgot about the broccoli in the oven, and then I opened it and almost died?”

“Just say you want me to help you out with cooking. Come on. Choke it out.”

“Would you please cook a dinner for two for me?” Charlie asked pleadingly; and for a long moment - silence fell on Selina’s end.

“Fine.” the burglar finally sighed, sounding defeated. “Two dishes, no dessert, because I still have nightmares about the desert class at the academy. And you’ll clean my place up next time you drop by.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know, kitten. Now. Does your loverboy have any preferences?”

“Uh-uh.” Charlie muttered, already reaching for her laptop, opening the folder from Victoria. “He’s actually… Kind of picky. Oh, bother.”

“Mmmm?”

“I can’t give him something _tailored_ to his needs.” Charlie sighed, as Selina laughed; out of the two of them - Charlie was the overthinking one. And for a very good reason.

“Then give him something tailored to _your_ needs.” Selina suggested, as Charlie glanced at the file, wondering how exactly did Victoria gather that much information about Cobblepot’s eating habits. Did he follow him around from restaurant to restaurant? Did she go through his trash to find grocery receipts? Did she bribe people?

So many possibilities - and all of them creepy.

“Oooh, he seems to have a sweet tooth.”

“ _No dessert_.” Selina said firmly. “Just don’t wear panties and say _you’re_ his dessert.”

Charlie winced briefly; but only for a moment. Oswald Cobblepot actually had a pleasant face; in different, more genuine circumstances - she probably wouldn’t mind something happening between them.

“This is something _you’d_ say.” Charlie shot back. “Did you ever try it?”

“What you need for this line to work is someone who’s into you and who doesn’t mind being bossed around.” Selina said evasively. “So, any common food preferences?”

“How about a pomegranate salad and your sweet and sour pork?” Charlie suggested. “It’s great.”

“Just as long as you pay for the ingredients. When is he coming?”

“Saturday.”

“Alright, I’ll give you a shopping list by tomorrow afternoon. You _do_ have cooking utensils, right?”

“Yes, I do.” Charlie said proudly. “And I don’t think I’ve _ever_ used them.”

“You are a disaster. I hope you’re aware of it.”

“We complete each other, Sel. You look like a hot mess and have your shit together. Me? I have an entire set of measuring cups I’ve never even used. I’m great at making people think I have my shit together.”

“You only have one chair in your entire flat.”

“But my guests can sit on some _very_ comfortable pillows though.”

***

Cobblepot showed up on time; fifteen minutes earlier Selina left Charlie’s place, leaving behind two things - a dinner for two and a mess.

The man looked strangely anxious and apologetic as she let him in, briefly glancing at a paper bag he was carrying.

“Your phone died when I was about to ask if you want me to bring anything.” he eventually said. “And I texted you, but… You never replied. And then I asked if the dinner’s still a thing. And you never replied.”

“Well that’s odd.” she said, genuinely surprised. “I never got any text.”

He raised his eyebrows; and underneath this skepticism - he looked like a kicked puppy, awkwardly standing next to her coat hanger.

“What’s that?” Charlie asked, pointing at the bag; Cobblepot blinked and looked at it as well.

“I don’t like showing up empty handed.” he said, handing her the mysterious bag. “So I brought some wine. And… Some dessert. But you never told me what you prefer, so… I got samples of everything from Lafontaine’s.”

She smiled; and it was a genuine smile, albeit one she was not in control of. Lafontaine’s was Gotham’s top restaurant, famous for its desserts - made from the highest quality, fair trade ingredients, with love, never overwhelmingly sweet, often seasonal.

Very soon the mystery of the missing texts was solved; turned out that yes, Charlie did plug her phone in - except the _charger_ was not plugged in. Her face turned red as she revealed this to Cobblepot and he laughed, his laughter filled with relief.

“Happens to the best of us.” he assured her, as she quickly scrolled through his - very polite and only barely lined with distress - texts. “Your place is… Nice.”

“It’s tiny and old.” she corrected him calmly; no matter how much she tormented the floors with a vacuum cleaner - she could not hide cracked walls and how cold her bathroom was. “It’s alright. I know. You don’t have to be polite.”

She turned around and entered her tiny kitchen; suddenly she kind of regretted inviting him over. He was trying his best to be polite; but her place was kind of gross and she felt…

Sort of humiliated, actually. It was odd - it’s not like he or his opinion _mattered_. And yet there it was, that bitter, coldly burning feeling of inadequacy. Somehow, Oswald Cobblepot in his impeccable suit was an unpleasant reminder of everything she had lost; and his polite remark made her cheeks burn.

He seems to be overjoyed at the lack of chairs.

“Really? You’re not worried about your clothes?”

“Ironing’s a practice I’m familiar with.” he said, sitting down on a pillow with his legs crossed. “Believe it or not… I actually _like_ informal situations.”

“I guessed that much.” she said lightly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so eager to see me more often.”

During the evening, she caught him staring quite a few times; good. That was her intention; she was wearing a sheer blouse and a black see-through bra, offering him glimpses of her breasts. And she used her perfume laced with pheromones as well; she planned on using it a couple more times. It always worked - men were simple. They always wanted what they could not quite have, what they had to imagine - all she had to do was to simply give them mere glimpses. And considering they were about to start spending a lot of time in a professional environment - she was sure she’s going to have him wrapped around her finger in no time. She was good at walking the thin line between professionally playful and outright seductive.

“You have a _very_ nice perfume.” he said eventually. “Let me guess… Cherries and bergamot?”

She raised her eyebrows, not trying to hide her surprise. He was correct; and she wondered exactly how much time did he spend trying to decipher the subtle scents in the air.

“How did you know?”

He smiled proudly, loudly tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertip; and she absentmindedly noted he has long, slender fingers.

“I have _remarkably_ sensitive nose. Also I’m a renaissance man of sorts. I once dabbled in perfume making.”

“Really?” she asked softly, remembering that part of his file from Victoria; there was a mention of him spending quite a few years in Europe, where he worked with Fragonard. “What did you brother have to say about it?”

He shrugged, and she thought about his childhood friend turned brother; Bruce Wayne was tall, muscular, handsome - and bland. After growing up - and receiving the best education possible - Bruce took over his late father’s business; and he was the face of Gotham since then. Oswald - whom Bruce’s parents quietly adopted, after Theodore committed suicide, and Esther was stripped of parental rights after being committed to Arkham Asylum, where she took her own life a couple of years later. Bruce grew up to be a polite businessman; Oswald grew up to be a bit more cocky and energetic - but still polite. _Deadly_ polite, some’d say; some said his honeyed words and polite smiles and handshakes could be devastating.

Charlie, on the other hand, only saw a charming man, who was trying his best to woo her, not realizing he’s walking right into the intricate set of traps she had set for him. Watching him, and absentmindedly listening to him - all while absorbing every word, since it’s being a patient listener, rather than a fast talker that earns a con artist their coups - she tried to see underneath his face, trying to see the venom; but to no avail. There seemed to not be more to Oswald Cobblepot than met the eye.

Not that there was anything wrong with it, no, In fact - Charlie envied Oswald Cobblepot. He was everything he appeared to be, nothing more and nothing less; a rich, chatty man, with taste for pretty people and pretty things, with a sharp tongue. A scar running across the bridge of his nose, and several smaller ones on his hands indicated some interesting adventures - but those could happen to anyone. Anyone can get in a fight - and perhaps Cobblepot kept his scar as a reminder. Perhaps he kept it as a badge of honor, perhaps he thought it makes him appear interesting.

(If anything, it simply made him look _good_ ; gave his pleasant face some personality.)

She envied him; he also lost his family, and everything they owned - and yet he had everything. He didn’t have to be anything more; he didn’t have to transform, to turn into a chameleon just to survive.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, bringing her back to Earth. “Am I talking too much?”

“I sometimes get lost in my thoughts.” she said evasively. “It just… Happens. It’s not personal.”

“Mmm.” he muttered, squinting slightly. “I _am_ talking an awful lot though.”

“It’s alright.” she said, finishing her portion of sweet and sour pork with cashews. “That is, unless you want me to make you shut up. Just say the word.”

He cleared his throat and fixed the collar of his shirt, as if it had suddenly gotten just a bit too tight for him; but he didn’t protest. That was probably a good sign.

As he was pouring them some more wine - he brought rosé, very light and not too sweet - he reached for the paper bag, containing a multitude of dessert samples from Lafontaine’s. He _really_ brought a bit of everything; and everything was delicately packaged, as to not destroy anything.

“The restaurant earns quite a lot just on those dessert samples.” he stated, quickly arranging them on the table. “Tourists buy them as edible souvenirs, teenagers buy them to woo their prom dates… And the woman making those has _the_ longest fingers I’ve ever seen. Her hands look like spiders.”

“Oh really?” she said, mentally already picking out the delicacies that looked the tastiest; so basically all of them.

“You’re not listening.” he pointed out; but when she looked up - he seemed amused. “More interest in sweets than in me?”

“What can I say?” she said with a shrug. “I have a sweet tooth.”

His face lit up; she knew what is he going to say way before he opened his mouth.

“So do I.” he said, gesturing towards the artistically arranged sweets. “Ladies first. Take your picks, and then, being the _perfect_ gentleman I am… I will take whatever remains with dignity and without complaining.”

Absentmindedly she noted he started to talk even _more_ after she suggested she might shut him up; she thought back to everything Victoria got her. The woman got to his favorite worker at the Iceberg; she got a lot out of her. Apparently Cobblepot - that perfect, just a bit snarky, just a bit too chatty gentleman - had a penchant for being bossed around. Understandably, not many people attempted it with him, since he had the entire Wayne fortune behind him - so his little secret was mostly safe.

But now it seems like he’s trying to make her boss him around a bit, make him drop down to his knees. Oh, she was going to - just not _yet_. She had to prepare, both mentally and physically; and she had to be absolutely sure he’s going to comply. She had to make him _really_ want it.

For now - she had to pick _her_ share of desserts. If she could, she’d just shovel everything into her mouth; but she couldn’t.

Cobblepot pouted slightly when she picked up a narrow slice of cheesecake, decorated with wild strawberries and blackberries.

“Did I just pick your favorite?”

“Yes.” he said, obviously trying to sound dignified. “But, as a perfect gentleman-”

“Do the dishes.” she interrupted him calmly, picking up a tiny vanilla souffle. “And you’ll get your cheesecake.”

He started to get up; but she stopped him, reaching above the table and grabbing his sleeve.

“ _Later_.” she added, rolling her eyes as he sat back down. “Good things come to those who wait… And I think it might be high time someone worked on your _patience_.”

She said the last part of the sentence so quietly it was merely louder than a whisper; but it worked.

He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off her; it was dark outside and the lamp above the table was the only source of light in the room - and his eyes appeared bottomless and dark and his gaze was lingering and heavy.

“You picked _all_ the best bits.” he sighed, glancing at what was left. “Not that there are any _bad_ desserts at Lafontaine’s. Some are incredible… The others are just great.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” she said, taking a tiny bite of her souffle; and afterwards she tried to hide just _good_ it was - but in vain.

He smiled with satisfaction, and something about that expression made her want to wipe that satisfied, squinty-eyed smile off his face. Not in a _bad_ way; she didn’t want to punch him. She simply wanted to give him something to do; and she could think of just a perfect thing.

“Maybe next time I should treat you to a full-sized one.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, taking another, even smaller, bite. “Next time? You’re _very_ confident.”

For a moment, his face fell; and he looked at her with confusion when she laughed at his expression.

“We can do it again.” she finally said. “Maybe… Next saturday?”

She rested her chin against the ball of her hand, her elbow of the table, looking him in the eye.

“Mmm.” he said quietly. “I don’t know. I’m about to be your _boss_ -”

“Let’s leave this for the working days.” she interrupted him. “Let’s say… I have _all_ the weekends off.”

“Your boss is still your boss during the weekends though.” he muttered; his - already practically non-existent - resolve was weakening. “But… I’m sure _this_ arrangement would be easier on my conscience.”

“Mmmm.” she said, shooting him a victorious smile. “That’s nice. After all, I’d _hate_ to make you do something you’re not comfortable with.”

(She kind of meant it; she was all about using people’s comfort zones and preferences against them.)

The only problem was - she wasn’t sure she’d manage to get Selina’s help with cooking again. She only saw some solution - intentionally burn some random food to a crisp, tell Cobblepot she was distracted, and-

“How about _my_ place then?” he said, bringing her back to Earth. “I’m a decent cook myself. I was told my filet mignon is to die for. Or kill. Or both, somehow.”

“This sounds great.” she agreed, trying to hide her relief. “Spoil me rotten. That’s the fastest way to my heart.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” he said lightly. “Shall I ask the cook at Lafontaine’s to prepare a souffle? If I ask _real_ nice he’ll probably throw some fruit in.”

“Oh, absolutely. As for _now_ though… The dishes.” she said, motioning towards her tiny kitchen.

“I’ll take care of that… And I’ll be going.” he said, getting up. “I have a very long Sunday ahead of me.”

She followed him, laughing quietly as he sighed seeing she doesn’t have a dishwasher.

“Worried about your delicate hands?” she asked slightly mockingly; he looked at her over his shoulder.

“No.” he eventually replied. “Besides, even if I _was_ worried… That’d make the act of washing the dishes a noble sacrifice.”

“You’re doing it because I promised you that slice of cheesecake.”

“Who’s to say noble sacrifices don’t bring honey-sweet prizes?”

She didn’t say anything, only shaking her head instead; and after he was done with the dishes and wiped his hands with a towel, he turned around to leave.

She didn’t move, as he tried to squeeze past her; she scoffed quietly when he - more or less accidentally - brushed her waist with the back of his hand.

He smelled nice, she noted. And something about the fact he was taller than her made her annoyed - but not quite. Because first of all - annoyance doesn’t usually manifest between one’s legs, deep within.

He was tall, he smelled good, he dressed nicely, he had beautiful hands, and he looked at her attentively; and for a brief moment - she started to reconsider her plan. Yeah, making him wait _did_ sound good - but maybe throwing him a bone would work as well? Maybe it was better to just throw herself in the deep end? Maybe-

“Excuse me.” he said; and she blinked. “Did I forget something?”

“I spaced out.” she said, quickly looking away; he had narrow lips and a light stubble and she felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought of what she wanted to do to him, what she wanted him to do to her.

Wanted? No. She didn’t _want_ anything.

(Cautiously she decided to let herself get some pleasure out of this one.)

“Ah.” he said with a nod. “Well, in that case… I suppose I’ll be going now.”

“See you on Monday.” she said, watching him put his coat on. “Oh! Wait, I forgot.”

She quickly walked up to the table and picked the tiny cheesecake up; his face lit up as she handed it to him, carefully, to not smush it.

He ate it one bite, and licked his lips.

“To be honest, I was hoping for something sweeter.” he finally said; she laughed when he took her hand and pressed his lips to it, but her laughter froze in her throat when he lightly grazed the back of her hands with his stubble and when she looked him in the eye his eyes were dark and piercing and she almost felt naked under this heavy gaze.

She didn’t mind.

“Oh, you’re a charmer.” she finally said when he took a step back. “Get back here.”

She placed a light kiss in the corner of his mouth; she laughed and stepped away, putting her index finger on his lips when he turned his head a bit, trying to kiss her.

“Patience.” she said; to which he sighed.

“You’re a tease.”

“And _you_ have a long Sunday ahead of you.”

“Already in the working mindset, I see.” he sighed. “ _Fine_. See you on Monday.”

“See you.” she said, closing the door after him; the back of her hand was oddly warm and her lips were…

It was an odd sensation - kind of a pulse, kind of an itch. A physical manifestation of wanting to kiss someone _so_ badly; she had no idea where did it come from.

Perhaps her perfume had backfired. Or maybe _his_ cologne was laced with something. She found that thought amusing; him trying to woo her using pheromones, all while she was doing the same exact thing.

 


	2. ii

The next week was mostly uneventful - at least for her. That was actually not the first time she was someone’s personal assistant; neither it was the first time when she had to wrap her so-called-boss around her finger.

The one potential complication came in the form of the gallery’s security guards, two rather quiet men named Tennyson and Schulz. Tennyson seemed to not pay much attention to her; Schulz, however, looked at her attentively, analyzing her face.

“I feel like we’ve met before.” he finally said; and she smiled nervously, remembering tying him up at the start of the break in.

“I was at an interview here recently.” she said, trying to not panic; Schulz stared at her in silence.

Suddenly his face lit up.

“Oh, right.” he said; the tone of his remarkably raspy voice didn’t change even the slightest bit. “That’s probably it.”

And that was it; he didn’t even look at her as she was walking past him.

Neither she nor Cobblepot mentioned their Saturday date; in fact he asked her how did her weekend go, only an amused, playful spark in his eyes destroying the illusion of politeness.

“I had a date, actually.” she replied, looking him in the eye. “A charming fellow. We’re having round two this Saturday… A shame he never asked me about my food preferences.”

“Well, did _you_?” he asked, not looking up from his laptop; she snickered.

“I’m allergic to asparagus.” she said softly; and he finally looked up. “Just so you know.”

“And I can’t stand fish, raw or cooked.” he replied with a light smile. “Just so _you_ know.”

She smiled back - and he got _flustered_ , clearing his throat and fixing his collar.

“Anyway, miss Spencer.” he said, returning to his politely friendly tone. “Keep me in check. Make sure I’m not late to anything, and that my schedule makes sense. And… Keep the weirdos away from me.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a babysitter.” she said, taking his calendar from him. “Can I ask why did your previous assistant leave?”

“Bad breakup.” he said with a pained expression. “Don’t tell anyone I’ve told you this, but… Alfred Pennyworth’s a real ladykiller.”

She blinked a few times, connecting the dots. Like everyone who came to Gotham for a longer period of time, she knew a bit about both Bruce Wayne and his loyal, polite butler who raised both Bruce and Oswald. He was an old school gentleman, and a very quiet, private person; she could barely fathom the idea of him having time for any relationships outside of those with his wards, not to mention him breaking anyone’s heart.

“Really?” she finally asked.

“Trust me, I was surprised as well. Gotham just never stops throwing surprises at people.”

Later she could hear him talking over the phone; he was cancelling his order on fresh, organic asparagus.

(She really was allergic.)

He was so perfectly professional during the week it made her smile; even if she hated being called _miss Spencer_ by him. She’d rather have him call her by her name. And he was right when he said he’s not particularly demanding; she had lots of free time on her hands, once she made sure he doesn’t accidentally set up three meetings on the same hour of the same day.

She used the majority of that - ridiculously well-paid - free time to catch up with literature. She used to read quite a lot; but then she didn’t have time to read what _she_ likes; usually the literary tastes of people she was after didn’t have a lot in common with her own. She once was after a man who _loved_ Gor; some other time her target was _really_ into Ayn Rand.

(Yeah. Usually the men she was after weren’t brilliant. Or good.)

According to what Victoria gathered, Cobblepot was an avid reader of romance novels - which could explain his eagerness to welcome a dashing thief further into his life. She was fine with it; she had read her fair share of - more or less trashy - romance novels back in the day. She usually stole them from her mother; and Eleanor did a piss-poor job at hiding the saucier books from her daughter. Eventually, she simply gave up and started sharing; and Charlie was overjoyed, gleefully reading every single one.

Cobblepot also seemed to enjoy some academic papers from time to time; she didn’t quite share his enjoyment of Žižek and Kristeva, or his disdain for Lacan - but if the need arose, she’d be able to hold a conversation. After all - she did attend Harvard back in the day, before everything went to shit.

“What are you reading?” Cobblepot asked her, standing in the doorway; she looked up from her book. “And… Don’t say _a book_.”

“Well, damn.” she sighed, raising her book up a bit, so he could see its cover. “I’ll remember that.”

“ _Divas, Dames and Daredevils_. Do you like comic books?”

“Yep.” she said, putting her book down. “Magneto was right, every time.”

“Personally I’m more of an indie person.” he admitted. “Magneto’s that Jewish X-Man, right?”

“Yes.” she said, deciding to not get into Magneto’s history with the X-Men. “And for him, violence against humans is usually the answer. And the fact they casted Fassbender to play him? A _disgrace_.”

“How so?” he asked, crossing his arms; he seemed to be genuinely interested.

It felt nice, having an actual, almost-honest conversation with someone.

“Magneto’s Jewish.” Charlie stated with a shrug. “Fassbender’s not Jewish. He’s nice to look at, sure - but that’s it.”

“So is Fassbender your type?” he asked suddenly; she shot him a surprised look. “Whoops. Sorry. That was… Not exactly an appropriate question, was it?”

“He’s very… Shark-like.” she said, ignoring his remark. “He’s handsome, I’ll give him that. His smile rarely reaches his eyes, and those are _intense_. He’s… For the lack of a better word, he’s mesmerizing.”

Naturally, all those things she said were deliberate; Oswald Cobblepot and Michael Fassbender shared the type of looks. They were not exactly _similar_ , they did not look alike - but the parallels were there, in their thin lips and defined noses and piercing eyes.

Judging from his pleased smile, that disappeared after the briefest of moments - he was _aware_.

“I have a very important task for you.” he finally said. “Could you get me something from the coffee shop next door?”

She glanced in the direction of the door to his office, and at him; she was tempted to ask why can’t _he_ do it - but she didn’t.

Maybe he simply wanted to watch her leave.

“Sure.” she said, putting a bookmark inside her book. “What do you want?”

“Just tell them it’s my usual order.” he said, handing her his card - a Chase Sapphire. Of course. “They have _incredible_ cinnamon bagels, by the way.”

“Is this your way of subtly suggesting I should get something for myself as well?”

“Of course it is.” he scoffed. “I’m not an asshole, _you_ should get something out of being my errand girl as well.”

“Alright.” she said, getting up. “Be good while I’m gone. I’d rather not see this place go up in flames, you know.”

“Oh, come _on_.” he scoffed. “I’m a grown man, I’m capable of _not_ setting my own gallery on fire.”

“You had three meetings scheduled for one afternoon.”

“Those were supposed to be very short meetings!”

“ _And_ for the same _hour_.”

“Oh, off you go!” he scoffed, trying to sound angry; but she could see he’s hiding a smile.

So she left, swaying her hips slightly.

The place he send her to - a coffee shop, named Beans and Cream Cafe - was rather small; and rather crowded. The line was surprisingly long; and it took her a long while to get to the counter, where a - visibly tired - young man named Theo was taking orders.

“I’m here for mister Cobblepot’s usual order.” she said hesitantly; Theo squinted slightly.

“You’re not Evie Fogg.” he finally said.

Evie Fogg was Cobblepot’s previous assistant; she was old enough to be his mother, and pretty enough to be his lover. Not that she was either of those things.

“You got me here.” Charlie said, raising her hands slightly. “I’m Charlie Spencer. I took over Evie’s position.”

“Aww.” Theo sighed. “We’re probably going to keep meeting then. Mister Oz’s usual order, coming up. Something extra for you?”

“Uhh…”

She quickly glanced at the menu hanging above Theo; she suddenly felt _very_ hungry. The air inside the shop was overflowing with promising scents; and her breakfast that day only consisted of some baked apple-flavored yogurt.

“Yes.” she finally said. “I mean, I’m not the one paying, so… I’m going to treat myself.”

After giving him her order - a BLT panini, a cinnamon bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and fresh pressed blood orange juice (Theo winced slightly, and she knew _exactly_ what is he trying to not say) - Theo asked if she’s paying with cash or credit, to which she pulled out Cobblepot’s card.

“He’s a bit of a show off, isn’t he?” Theo asked, as she was paying. “ _Here, have my EXTREMELY EXCLUSIVE card._ ” he said, imitating Cobblepot’s voice. “ _Oh, you spilled coffee on my ONE OF A KIND SHOES? No worries, I’ll just get ALFRED PENNYWORTH, THE BEST BUTLER IN HISTORY to fix them!_ ”

“Well, at least he’s a good-hearted show off.” she said lightly, stepping to the side. “Would you rather have him sue you over his shoes?”

“If Oswald Cobblepot sued me, I’d just kill myself on spot.” Theo stated, walking away to take care of her order; another worker took his place, and they looked rather exasperated at Theo’s casual discussion of suicide in case of legal complications.

Moments later Theo handed her a _big_ paper bag.

“What _is_ his usual order anyway?” she asked, taking a peek inside; he rolled his eyes.

“Everything bagel, toasted, with scallion cream cheese and smoked ham.” he recited. “Citrus green tea, no sugar, and an apple crumble muffin. Make that triple, except for tea. Make that venti.”

“...where does this food _go_?” she asked, thinking about all his sharp angles and slender limbs.

“I dunno.” Theo said with a shrug. “Maybe he has a secret hamster in his office. Have a good day. Tell him I said hi.”

She carried the bag back to the gallery; Schulz stopped her on her way in.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Food from the coffee shop.” she said hesitantly. “I didn’t buy a firearm, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“She’s new here, Schulz.” Tennyson said, not looking up from a newspaper he was reading; Charlie wondered why is he wearing sunglasses inside, and if he fixes his sidecut by himself, or if he goes to a stylist. “That grouch’s trying to ask why didn’t you get something for us.”

“Because I had no idea you _wanted_ anything. I’m not a telepath.”

“A pity.” he said, flipping the page. “Working with mister Cobblepot does sometimes require telepathy.”

“Next time you go there just say you want the usual order for the gallery.” Schulz asked, letting her walk past. “The Cobblepot Gallery and Beans and Cream go way back.”

“I’m not _your_ errand girl though. Buy your own damn coffee, gentlemen.” she said, entering the elevator; they laughed.

She didn’t like them. Not one bit.

Cobblepot was talking with someone over the phone.

“Which part of _later_ is so hard to understand?!” he asked with exasperation. “Later! No, I can _not_ give it to you right now.”

He noticed Charlie standing in the doorway with a paper bag, and his face lit up.

“ _Later,_ Bruce.” he said, motioning for her to come in; she raised her eyebrows. Was he yelling at Bruce Wayne? “Uh-uh. Tell Al I said hi.”

“Theo from the the coffee shop says hi.” she said, after he hung up. “Running late on something you promised mister Wayne, mister Cobblepot?”

“No, he asked me for a favor out of blue.” he said with a shrug. “And I said I’ll take care of it - _later._ Did you get something for yourself?”

“Mmmhmm.” she said, fishing her own food out of the bag, and hiding the cinnamon bagel he recommended from his prying eyes. “You could’ve told me to get something for the boys downstairs as well, you know.”

At first, he seemed surprised; then he furrowed his brows.

“Oooooh.” he muttered. “That explains the numbers. No worries though.” he added in a lighter tone. “No one’s going to get fired. Did they give you shit for not bringing them food?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“We go to the same gym.” he said casually. “Maybe I should do something wildly unprofessional this Sunday. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to put _acting unprofessionally_ in your schedule?”

He snickered, shaking his head; and she turned around to leave - but he stopped her.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, miss Spencer?”

“Am I now?” she asked calmly, standing with her back to him, to hide her brief, pained expression.

“My card, you dashing thief.”

“And here goes my brilliant plan.” she sighed theatrically; she walked up to her desk and put her food down, before turning around and walking up to him. “Don’t worry. I didn’t go _too_ wild.”

He looked at her expectantly, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember which perfume she put on that day - the regular one? Or the laced one?

Even though she was wearing heels, he was still taller than her - so she reached out, grabbed him by his tie and pulled lightly, forcing him to bend his back a bit.

“Here’s your card.” she said quietly, sliding it into the front pocket of his jacket. “That’s a nice tie, by the way.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“If you must.”

“What happened to that tie you took from me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” she said lightly, letting him go; he didn’t have to know that - in order to try and get herself to form some sort of attachment to him - she kept his tie under her pillow, and sometimes played with it when she was feeling fidgety. “Anything else you need from me, mister Cobblepot?”

He looked at her and shook his head without a word; even though she could see in his eyes - he wanted to say something.

***

On Friday, there were alone in an elevator, and he stopped it between floors.

“Hmm.” she said, watching him. “Well, that’s a new.”

“I have a question regarding our tomorrow… _Thing_.” he said nervously. “You mentioned you’d rather not wander around after the sundown…”

“That’s true. This week someone got mugged right outside my building.”

“I can send someone to pick you up.” he offered. “I’m going to be busy, making sure nothing burns, but… It can be arranged.”

“And what about sending me back home?” she asked softly; she wondered if he’s going to try and get into her good graces already.

“I can drive you home.” he offered instantly. “I’m just… Not going to drink anything. Or… You could stay the night.” he added quietly; and she nodded silently, pretending she’s considering her options.

“I’ll see.” she finally said, despite already knowing she’s going to return home after the dinner; she was going to play with him a bit more, before finally giving him what he wants. “What time is my chauffeur going to show up?”

“Around six.”

“I’d rather they showed up around seven.”

“Seven it is then.” he agreed meekly, and she smiled with satisfaction. “I suppose I should unlock the elevator now.”

“Yep.” she agreed, looking away. “You should.”

He reached over her shoulder and pressed the button again; he brushed the back of her neck with the ball of his hand. Oddly enough - it got a reaction out of her. A shiver ran down her spine, a pleasant one; and suddenly she realized - he’s kind of attractive, actually.

***

“Have you considered this might _not_ go well?” Selina asked her over the phone, as she was getting ready. “After all, you stole from him.”

“He has a charitable streak.” Charlie muttered, painting her lips red. “He doesn’t mind sharing his wealth with the… Less fortunate ones.”

“You _stole_ from him.” Selina repeated. “For all we know, he might drug you and force you to say what happened to what we stole.”

“What _did_ happen to it anyway?”

“It’s in my bathroom.” Selina said nonchalantly. “I stare at it when I get stuck on the toilet. Makes me dissociate for a time being.”

Charlie giggled, before becoming serious again.

“Don’t worry about me, Sel.” she said, reaching for the eyeliner. “I’m a big girl, and he’s… He’s more of a softie, than a sadist. The worst he can do to me is to use his puppy eyes on me.”

“Would that be effective though?”

Would it?

“Maybe a bit.” she said reluctantly. “Look, let’s… Let’s just say that if I don’t text you by noon on Sunday - I’m probably ears deep in shit and need help. Or that I’m dead and _don’t_ need help anymore.” she added, trying to sound nonchalant; but Selina did plant a seed of doubt deep within her. Maybe it was Cobblepot’s place; to corner her, and then-

“If you don’t _call_ me, I’m going to break into his apartment.” Selina informed her. “And start looking. And if I don’t find you… Then I’m probably going to do something to him. Remember when we were watching _Casino Royale_ and Mads Mikkelsen whipped Daniel Craig’s balls?”

“I think Cobblepot might be into this sort of thing though.”

“Everyone has a hard limit.” Selina said firmly. “And I’m going to reach it - and then I’m going to keep going, until he tells me what happened.”

“What if it turns out I was hit by a car and he had nothing to do with it?”

“I’ll send him a fruit basket. And a handwritten card.”

Charlie laughed; and at that moment - someone knocked at the door.

“Whoops. Gotta go, I think my ride’s here.” she said, looking at her reflection in the mirror; she looked good - and the narrow side cut on the left of her dress offered _just_ a peek at what was beneath.

(Lace garter belt and matching stockings.)

“Be safe, kitten.”

“Said the burglar to a seductress.” Charlie sighed, hanging up.

It took her a moment to process who is she looking at after she opened the door.

“Oh.” she said, looking at Bruce Wayne, who looked _very_ out of place in the middle of a rundown corridor outside her door. “Well, that’s _definitely_ a new.”

“Oz called in a favor.” he said with an awkward shrug. “One I repaid a long time ago, but… You know. Brotherly bond.”

“S-sure.” she said, still staring at him and his - probably ridiculously expensive - clothes. “So you’re my ride then.”

“Yes I am, yes I am.” he muttered, watching her grab her purse and put a coat on. “If you don’t mind me asking… How did you meet Oz?”

“By accident.” she said, locking the door. “I wandered into his gallery by accident?”

“Really?” he said; and something in his tone made her look at him with her brows furrowed. “That’s not what he had told me, you know.”

For a moment - her heart stopped; she could feel the panic building up inside of her.

“Oh really?” she said, trying to breathe normally. “What _did_ he tell you then?”

Her hand was already in her pocket, and she was gripping her keys tightly, ready to use them as a weapon.

They had left the building; and the street was nearly empty, and she knew there’s no point in screaming for help, because those few people who were out - they didn’t look like they’d help someone being assaulted by Bruce Wayne.

“That you bumped into him and spilled coffee all over him.” Wayne said; and Charlie sighed with relief. “But to be honest, I believe _you_ more. He’s sort of… Scatterbrained.”

“You’re not a great wingman.” she sighed; he glanced at her.

“I can spend the entire drive to his place listing his various virtues. Are you _sure_ you want that?”

“You don’t have to convince me to spend time with Oswald, mister Wayne.” she said lightly; the name rolled off her tongue easily, like she’d been saying it quite often. It tasted and felt like a red wine-based sauce; rich and smooth and so, _so_ satisfying. “You can tell him that.”

“Mmm. I guess I’m not that bad of a wingman after all.”

Oswald and Bruce didn’t live together; Cobblepot lived in the center of Gotham, in a penthouse overlooking the city, with a good view at the Wayne Tower. That part of Gotham actually looked a lot like the neighbourhood in New York, where Charlie grew up; a disturbingly clean island among the ocean of chaos. It was obvious Gotham’s facing some financial problems; and Diamond District was their best example. It simply was _too_ well kept; and as a result - it looked very out of place.

“Hello, mister Wayne.” the security guard standing in front of the entrance said, nodding slightly. “Here to see mister Cobblepot?”

“Not quite. _She’s_ here to see him.” Bruce said, nodding towards Charlie. “I’m just a driver tonight.”

“I have to pat you down, miss..?” the man said apologetically; she sighed. She didn’t like this part of visiting secure places; she didn’t like stranger hands touching her.

“Spencer.” she said with resignation, walking up to him; but Wayne stopped both of them.

“Give it a rest, Fitz. She’s clean.”

“But-”

“ _Give it a rest_.” Bruce repeated. “Please.”

Oddly enough - it worked, as the man simply shrugged and waved his hand.

“Thanks.” Charlie said quietly, as Wayne was leading her towards the elevator.

“It’s nothing. I trust you… _Really_ didn’t bring a gun.”

“Only a taser.” she said jokingly; he shot her a frightened look. “I’m… Not going to tase your brother though. You saw the place I live in.”

“Tase him to your heart’s content.” he muttered, calling the elevator for her; the button had to be activated through a fingerprint reader first. “Well, I’ll be going now. Just press the giant, glowing, golden button inside the elevator. It’s kind of… Hard to miss.”

He was right; if the button was any bigger, it’d be taking the entire wall. The elevator was _very_ well lit, and two out of the four walls were covered in mirrors; and she looked around, trying to spot the security camera - but to no avail.

Moments later she walked into Cobblepot’s spacious, bright apartment; and followed the sounds coming from one of the rooms. It sounded like sizzling; and the air smelled like a mixture of ginger, honey, garlic and soy sauce.

“Need a hand?” she asked, entering the kitchen; judging from how well-equipped it was - it was obvious _someone_ likes to cook.

“No, no, everything’s fine.” Cobblepot replied, sounding just the tiniest bit panicked; he turned around to face her for a moment, wiping his hands into the apron he was wearing over his suit. “And almost finished, in fact. Also… Hi.”

“Hi.” she said softly. “Your place is… Nice. I mean… _Genuinely_ nice.”

“I could show you around.” he offered immediately. “Or… Would that be bragging?”

“As opposed to me… _You_ have something to show. What’s for dinner?”

“Not to brag, but… Plenty of good stuff.” he said, flipping something on the pan. “And… No asparagus.”

He covered the pan with a lid, turned the heat off and took the apron off, sending her a smile, accompanied by puppy eyes.

“So.” he added. “How hungry are you?”

“Well, as for _now…_ I’m mostly curious.” she said, ignoring the woeful sounds her stomach was making. “Show me around?”

“How much bragging exactly are you willing to take from me?”

“All of it… For now.”

His face lit up, and he gestured around the kitchen.

“This… Is my kingdom.” he said. “I like cooking. It’s… Calming.”

“Even when something burns?”

“I _never_ burn anything.” he said firmly. “Mostly because everything in this kitchen is intelligent, and doesn’t allow any burning. Perks of being filthy rich.” he added defensively, seeing her amused look. “Everyone sometimes forgets to stir something.”

His kitchen was an open one, connected directly to the living room. He had a massive, flat screen tv; and underneath she could see an impressive collection of game consoles.

“I _know_.” he said, most likely mistaking her expression for amusement. “I’m an adult, and games are for kids.”

“Actually I wanted to ask what your favorite is.” she said; and his face lit up. “No one can be serious all the time… Even people who are _never_ serious.”

“Planning to steal my favorite game from me?”

“Maybe so. A good thief doesn’t reveal their plans.”

But he didn’t answer her question; as if he - for some reason - didn’t trust her enough to reveal what his favorite _game_ is.

He also showed her his - _very_ rarely used - office, a small library, a slightly bigger gym and a guest bedroom, very comfortable - and impersonal, as to not cause anyone to feel uncomfortable due to the host’s tastes.

“And this, I presume, is _your_ bedroom..?” she asked, reaching for the doorknob; he laughed nervously and stood between her and the door.

“It’s a mess.” he said hastily; he was obviously lying. “Clothes everywhere.”

“Need a hand?” she asked, not moving away; she wondered what might he be hiding. The most obvious guess were his bedroom preferences. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“It most absolutely _is_.” he insisted, glancing briefly at her lips. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Come on.” he said and quickly walked away, not waiting for her response; she glanced at the mystery door one more time and followed him.

He turned out to actually be a great cook; that by itself wasn’t a surprise, she already knew it from Victoria’s files. But it was still nice, eating something genuinely good - something made for her.

They started with a light risotto salad, followed by cream of carrot and red lentils soup. And he looked at her a lot; she liked that. She put some extra effort into dolling herself up; knowing it paid off - was nice.

They talked about everything and nothing; he already knew the - completely fake - basics about her; so this time the conversation mostly drifted in the direction of what’s beneath the surface. He asked her about what she _likes_ a lot; and more often than not - she found herself giving him answers that had more truth to them, than blatant lies. It was refreshing; she finally felt like her own, actual person again, rather than a cardboard cutout, tailored to the tastes and preferences to whoever she was after.

For a moment, she thought she might have went a bit overboard with the perfume, considering the amount of puppy eyed, lingering gazes and attention she was receiving from him; or maybe he simply _was_ like that. Maybe it didn’t take much to sweep him off his feet; maybe a little teasing simply was enough to get under his skin and inside his head and into his heart.

“You should cook for me more often.” she sighed, as he was setting next plates down on the table; beef teriyaki, caramelized and moist.

“I might start.” he said lightly. “Do you want me to start bringing lunchboxes with me to the gallery?”

“So now I’m torn between using your skills and raiding your card.” she said, glancing at the chopsticks; she did know how to use them, and did so with ease - but he didn’t know that. “Uhm.”

“Problem with chopsticks?”

“Yes.” she lied, shooting him her best smile of a helpless lamb. “Help a girl out?”

“I often find myself unable of saying _no_ to a damsel in distress.” he said, moving over with his own chopsticks in hand. “Like this.”

“Like this?” she asked, _almost_ getting it right, but not _quite_ right; she looked at him from underneath her lashes. “You _could_ just show me, you know.”

“As you wish.” he agreed, putting his hand over hers; his fingertips were surprisingly rough for someone who was living his life without having to actually _do_ anything. He grazed her skin lightly; and it felt nice. She put a lot of effort into concealing the shiver that ran down her spine; his face was next to hers and she suddenly felt an urge to just turn her head a bit and kiss him down her memory.

“I think I got it now.” she said lightly, taking a piece of beef from his plate. “And this… This is to die for.”

“Thank you.” he said, not taking his eyes off her face; her cheeks suddenly started to feel warmer. Did she have something on her face?

_No, stupid. He wants to kiss you, you dummy._

“Watch out.” she warned him, taking another piece from his plate, her own portion still untouched. “You might end up with nothing.”

“To be honest… I don’t mind, you taking and taking from me.” he said; and she froze for a moment. “It’s a nice sight. At least… You’re open about it.”

“I’m not after your fortune.” she said softly, briefly glancing around the room; she wondered how comfortable his bed must be and how many pressure settings his shower probably has. “Your food’s getting cold.”

“Oh? Is that a sign of concern?”

“Maybe.” she said, clacking with her chopsticks a few times. “Come on, Oswald. Eat.”

“You know, I just realized this is the first time you had called me by my name.” he said, gently pushing her pair of chopsticks away with his, fighting off her another brave heist. “It’s either _mister Cobblepot_ … Or nothing.”

“I like to prolong certain things. You don’t call me by my name either.”

“I like to deny myself certain pleasures from time to time.” he said with a light smile; and suddenly she knew _exactly_ how is he going to say her name eventually.

(On his knees, with his eyes on her, pleadingly, adoringly.)

“I’ll remember that.” she said, putting her chopsticks down on the - now completely empty - plate. “Are you going to deny yourself dessert as well?”

“No, but I’m going to keep putting it further away in time. Waiting makes so many things _so_ much sweeter, doesn’t it?”

“You know what? You’re right.” she decided. “By the way, I wouldn’t say _no_ to a cup of tea.”

“Your wish is my command.” he said, getting up and collecting the plates. “What’s your poison?”

“Whatever you have.”

“I have approximately fifty tea blends in my cabinet.” he said, putting the plates into a dishwasher. “Be more specific… Or I’m going to spend the next hour meticulously composing a catch-all tea blend just for you.”

“I’m in no rush.” she said, getting up from the chair; she moved onto the - divinely comfortable - couch and purred with satisfaction. She took her heels off and stretched her legs across the seat, watching him over the backrest. “Humor me. What would be in my blend?”

“Black tea as a base.” he replied, taking some small containers out of a cabinet. “And then… Bergamote, cherry, a hint of blackberry. Some vanilla finish, probably.”

“That’s a lot of flavors to put in one tea.”

“People are multifaceted.” he replied. “Aren’t you curious about my reasoning behind those picks though?”

“Cherry and bergamote are obvious.” she said with a yawn. “It’s my perfume. Blackberry and vanilla though… Not so obvious.”

“Blackberries are very sour.” he said, looking at her briefly. “But in the right hands, and with enough patience… There’s so much sweetness hidden inside.”

“And vanilla?” she asked, glad for the fact he wasn’t looking at her anymore; her cheeks were turning red.

“I like vanilla.” he said simply.

It didn’t take him an hour to make her tea; he handed her a cup about fifteen minutes later, with a couple of brown sugar cubes on the matching saucer.

“Try it first.” he said, seeing her reach for the sugar; she rolled her eyes and he laughed. “No, no, I’m not one of those _sugar ruins tea_ people. It just might be sweet by itself.”

She took a sip - and had to fight off the urge to just down the entire cup in one big gulp. It was easily _the_ best tea she ever had; and he was not the first amateur tea artist she was after.

(Sometimes she could still feel the taste of a certain dill disaster in her mouth.)

“Mmm.” she said, instead forcing herself to show some restraint and sip the beverage slowly. “This is… Actually it’s not bad.”

He looked like a kicked puppy that was also being yelled at, and she laughed.

“I’m kidding. It’s great.” she said softly; and his face lit up. “Actually… Would you mind me taking some home?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Do you want me to write down the steeping instructions?”

“Please do.”

Finally he sat down in a nearby chair with his own tea.

“And what are _you_ drinking?”

“My own blend.” he said. “Hey, let’s play a game. Take a sip… And try to guess what did I put there.”

“Alright. Is there a reward?”

“I’ll give up my dessert for you.”

“And… If I _don’t_ get it right?”

“Nothing happens.” he said, sounding amused. “You can either lose nothing, or gain an entire souffle.”

“Oh my. I see you kept your word.”

“Mmmm-hmm.” he said, handing her his cup. “Now… Focus.”

She rolled her eyes again and took a sip; she then closed her eyes and let the liquid sit on her tongue for a bit, as she was identifying the flavors.

There was an overarching flavor of root spices, mixed together; as well as something smokey, and…

“Whiskey.” she said with amusement. “You put _whiskey_ in your tea.”

“Just a tiny bit.” he said defensively. “What else can you taste?”

“Spices for gingerbread cookies.” she said, handing him his cup back. “And smoke. It tastes… Interesting. No idea about the exact things though.”

“Let’s keep it that way then. Some secrets are simply not meant to be shared.”

The taste of his blend seemed to have burned itself into her tongue; it still lingered, even when she drank her own tea. All in all, it wasn’t an unpleasant taste; just a bit too intense for her liking.

“This couch is _perversely_ comfortable.” she said eventually, setting her cup and the saucer down on the coffee table. “What is it stuffed with, feathers?”

“Ikea doesn’t stuff their furniture with feathers.” he replied; and the fact he had an Ikea couch in his luxurious apartment actually took her aback. “What, are you surprised?”

“Shocked, even.” she admitted. “I was expecting something more along the lines of _one of its kind, made to order by the best Italian craftsman, I have to re-stuff it every three months._ ”

“I actually have my eyes on a piece _just_ like the one you described.” he said with amusement. “I might buy it, if you think it’ll suit me better.”

“And what happens to this one? You’re not going to just throw it away, are you?”

“Are you trying to charm a _couch_ out of me?”

“Maybe.” she said with a shrug. “It’s a tad big. Won’t fit in my purse.”

“Alright, you can have it. Anything else you want me to replace, so _you_ can have it?” he asked, gesturing around the room. “Go wild. Though it’d be much simpler if you _just_ told me what do you want.” he added.

“What, are you implying you’re willing to buy me wildly expensive gifts?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “I like giving. And I liked that expression you made when I said you can take some of the tea home with you.” he added with disarming honesty. “So for now you want a couch. Anything else?”

“Nope.” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. “But I’ll remember your generosity if I ever find myself running late on bills. Or in need of the finest caviar.”

“I’d deliver that caviar straight to your doorstep, you know. A noble sacrifice from a man absolutely _revolted_ by anything even remotely related to fish.” he said in a pained voice, and she laughed, still not opening her eyes. “Do you want to take a nap?”

“I’m imagining this couch in my place, that’s all. Trying to subtly convince me to stay the night?”

“Maybe.” he said; and something in his tone - some odd, pleading longing - made her open one eye. “Is it working?”

“I didn’t bring anything with me… And I hate wearing the same underwear for two days in a row.”

“Oh. Well, it was worth a shot.” he said, getting up. “Got room in your stomach for a dessert?”

“And more tea, yes.” she said, handing him her cup as he walked past her. “And then… I suppose I’ll be going home. It’s getting late, and… I’ve got some plans for tomorrow.”

“What kind of plans?” he asked; and before she said anything - he looked at her over his shoulder. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s our second date, Oswald.” she said softly. “It’s alright. You can ask me what are my plans for tomorrow.”

“So… What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I owe something to a friend.” she replied. “She helped me out with something, and in return… I’m going to clean her place up.”

“A friend? Perhaps… Your burglary accomplice?”

She tensed up, her body instantly on high alert, and she could taste something bitter and metallic and cold in her mouth, nauseating, buzzing hum in her ears. She hoped that if the push comes to shove she’d be able to reach the exit before he gets to her; but then she remembered the _elevator_ and suddenly she was breathing heavily-

“Charlie?” he asked anxiously. “You there? Oh my.” he added, turning around. “You’re… Pale.”

“Are you trying to investigate the burglary?” she asked weakly. “I have no idea-”

“Heavens, _no_!” he interrupted her. “I couldn’t care less about that… _Painting_ you stole. It’s all in the past now.”

He walked up to a nearby wall, and pressed a neatly hidden button.

“There.” he said, motioning towards the elevator. “The way out’s open. I can go to the other room-”

“No.” she interrupted him. “I’m… I’m just a bit jumpy, that’s all. Sorry.”

“See, this is a complicated situation. On one hand, I kind of have the moral high ground here… But on the other… You look like an abandoned kitten in the rain.” he sighed, returning to preparing tea. “I’m not going to hurt you, in any way. Cobblepot’s word.”

“I can try to get that p-”

“Let’s just leave it in the past, alright?” he interrupted her again. “I don’t want it back. At least now I have the space to showcase something _good_. No one’s hurt.”

She smiled palely, when he set down a cup of tea and a vanilla souffle decorated with wild strawberries in front of her.

“So we’ve established what are your plans for tomorrow. And what about… Monday?”

“Back to work.” she said, picking up a spoon. “My current boss is… Nice. Kind of scatterbrained, but at least he has a good heart.”

“Oh?”

“And he’s easy on the eyes.” she added without looking at him. “Oh my _god_. When I die, I want this souffle to greet me into the Heavens. _Fuck_ saint Peter.”

“So I guess you’re going to be happy at the fact… I accidentally bought _three_ instead of _two_. Silly me.” he added lightly. “Care to give a souffle a loving home?”

“ _YES._ ”

Eventually, their teacups and ramekins were empty; and she sighed with satisfaction, curled up on the couch. Now all she needed was a blanket.

_And maybe someone’s arm around me and my head on someone’s shoulder. What? Fuck, that was sappy._

“I’ll be going soon.” she finally said, stretching. “Should I call a cab, or-”

“I’ll drive you home.” he interrupted her; even though she didn’t actually have any intentions on finishing that question. “Whenever you want. Just say the word.”

“...fine.” she said, not moving. “But, before we go… Let’s talk about the next time.”

“Oh?” he said, entering the kitchen. “I’m all ears.”

“Let’s do it at my place.” she said, absent-mindedly drawing a spiral with her fingertip atop the coffee table. “Don’t get me wrong. _Yours_ is… Well.”

“Ridiculously comfortable?”

“Yes. But…”

She paused for a moment; at first she wanted to tell him she has a surprise for him - but then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.

And for some reason, she _really_ wanted to see his face once he sees what she had in mind.

“...that’d simply be unfair.” she continued. “It’s my turn to be the host now.”

“Mmmm.” he muttered, putting some tea into a fancy glass jar. “There’s a hitch though.”

“Oh.” she remembered; he had a _family dinner_ scheduled with Bruce and Alfred next Saturday. “So… Friday, then?”

“But what about professionalism?”

“I’ll tell you I have to leave you to your own devices earlier than usual.” she said, watching him. “I’ll tell you I have a doctor appointment. And you, being a decent person… Will tell me to not worry about it.”

“Mmmm. And… What happens next?”

“You’ll show up at my doorstep at seven, with some pink wine in hand and some delightfully poetic compliments on your tongue. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” he said, putting the lid onto the jar. “Do you want me to bring something sweet as well? I know where to get the most exquisite, handmade bonbons.”

“Let’s just say that the answer to the question _should I bring some sweets when I visit Charlie?_ is always a _yes_.

Eventually - he drove her home, in his midnight blue Bugatti Chiron, with seats padded with italian leather. And he helped her get out of it, and he walked her to her door, and waited for her to fish her keys out of her purse; and she was almost tempted to invite him inside - but she didn’t.

He kissed the back of her hand again, and his eyes again lingered on her face; and she laughed to mask the warm tension building up deep inside of her and kissed the corner of his lips again.

“Friday, seven.” she reminded him, absentmindedly fixing his tie. “I’ll put it into your calendar. In red. I can even draw some hearts to help you remember.”

“...alright. See you on Monday then.” he said; and then he left and she watched him leave, feeling an oddly endeared smile in the corners of her lips.

Once she finally entered her apartment and turned the light on, she was _very_ glad she didn’t invite him in; Victoria was there, sitting on her couch.

“How long exactly have you been sitting in the dark like this?” Charlie asked, leaving her purse on the shelf and entering the room, taking her heels off on her way in.

“I took a nap.” she said with a shrug; as if there was nothing weird about breaking into someone’s place and taking a nap on their couch. “I came here to ask you about your progress.”

“Well, I figured that much.” Charlie muttered, leaning against the nearby wall; suddenly she remembered in exact detail what was going to happen at some point in the future - and she almost felt _sad_.

“But then I listened to your conversation outside… And I don’t think I need to know anything else.” Victoria added, getting up. “You’re working fast.”

“He’s… It doesn’t take much to get to him, actually.” Charlie replied cautiously. “I think in a couple weeks, there will be an attempted confession. He’s a pleaser. I just… Have to let him know _this_ is what I want.”

“A couple of _week_? Your predecessors didn’t manage to get that in _months_.”

Victoria shot her a shark-like smile, seeing her surprised expression.

“Of course you’re not the first person I’ve hired to get to him. But… I think you might be the last.”

“Was his previous assistant…”

“Hired by me? No, no.” Victoria said, shaking her head. “But I’m not going to tell you all my secrets. Just know that… I’m willing to help. Many people owe me favors. I can call them in.”

Victoria walked past motionless Charlie, turning her head to look at her briefly.

“Remember.” she said quietly. “You only have to make him… How do you want to call it? Love?”

“Adore.” Charlie said without thinking. “Want. I don’t want to be loved. Not by him, anyway.”

“Oh, how curious. Whose love _do_ you want then? And - what if he _does_ fall in love with you? Which, by the way, is the preferable outcome here. In order for a heartbreak to be real… There has to be love involved.”

“I know. It’s not my first rodeo.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Just… Mind your step, Charlotte. Don’t get any funny ideas regarding honesty.”

“I’m _never_ honest.” Charlie said quietly, trying to not think about all those honest things she told Oswald already. “I’m barely even a person on my own anymore.”  
“That’s a good cardboard cutout.”

***

“How was your weekend?” Oswald asked her on Monday morning.

“I had another date with the same charmer.” she said. “I like him more and more.”

“So you _didn’t_ like him by the time of the first date?”

“I never said I didn’t like him. I’m simply starting to like him _more_.”

“Oh.” he said, sounding relieved. “Well. That… That makes sense, actually.”

“Mmmmhm.” she muttered, checking the email. “Someone wants you to buy their art. And look, they were sensible enough to actually _read_ through the contact tab on the website.”

“Oh, that’s a new. Usually people go straight to me first.”

“That’s because _someone_ thought it’s a good idea to put _his_ contact info up online.” she said, looking up from her phone. “How many indecent proposals did you get?”

“About a thousand too many.” he said with a pained expression. “Turns out affection from someone you have no interest in is… A bit repulsive at times.”

“There’s a name for that, you know. For those… Sudden proposals and pictures I’m assuming you’ve received.”

“ _Harassment_ is a very strong word.” he said hesitantly. “Plus… I’ve put my contact info up online. I could’ve known-”

“That doesn’t mean everyone can send you pictures of their nasty parts whenever they please.” she interrupted him; she sat at the edge of his desk with her legs crossed, opening the artist’s portfolio on her phone and handing it to him. “Here. What do you think?”

“Mmmm.” he muttered, taking the phone from her; he briefly brushed her wrist with his fingertips. “How honest do you want me to be?”

“Well, I’m not the artist, so… As honest as possible, I guess.”

“Your phone’s in such a bad shape I can barely see anything.” he finally said, and she laughed. “I think you should get a new one. Or… The Gallery will get you one. Any color preferences?”

“Is rose gold an option?”

“Yep. But, in the meantime…”

He pulled his laptop out of his bag and set it down next to her thigh.

“Let’s at least give the poor sod some justice and view those masterpieces in high definition.”

“Gosh, you’re such a skeptic.” she said, logging into her work email account. “Here. Look at this.”

She turned the screen in his direction, and he leaned forward, rubbing his chin with his thumb; he browsed the portfolio quietly, squinting or tilting his head slightly from time to time - and she watched him, wondering how exactly did he get that scar running across the bridge of his nose.

“This is _good_.” he finally said. “Where is this person from?”

“Luckily for you, he’s from Gotham. So… Do you want me to arrange a meeting?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely. _Finally._ ” he muttered under his breath, still staring at his screen. “Some good fucking art.”

Later that day he decided he’s going to accompany her to the Beans and Cream.

“Picking up an order for two is one thing.” he said, as they were walking towards the elevator. “But the order for me and you and Tennyson and Schulz? That’s… A lot for one not so big person to carry.”

“I’m much stronger than I look.”

“I’m not doubting that, but I’d feel awful having you carry all that stuff all by yourself. So… Humor me.” he said, stepping aside and waiting for her to come in first.

“Alright.”

The elevator they were using was kind of small; and normally she wasn’t too fond of other people standing this close to her - but in that case… She didn’t quite mind. In fact - she found herself sort of wishing he’d do something _wildly_ unprofessional, like stopping the elevator and starting a chain of events that’d end up with his fingers between her thighs and his lips on her neck.

But he did no do such a thing, instead limiting himself to gently brushing the back of her hand with his thumb; and she wondered if they’re playing the same game, or if he’s simply getting impatient.

(A shame; she was going to need him to be _very_ patient.)

Finally, they left the building - but not before he had a serious discussion with Tennyson and Schulz about their little sandwich scheme; and he was suddenly _so_ stern it made her raise her eyebrows in surprise, as she waited for him to be finished. It was like the entirety of him had changed; suddenly he was demanding and menacing and stern and she absent-mindedly bit her lip watching him.

There was no sign of this new Oswald once he turned around to face her.

“Shall we?” he asked, pointing towards the door; and she nodded, her breath oddly shaky.

“Don’t you think you went a bit too harsh on them?” she asked.

“Absolutely not.” he said, frowning. “They’ve been lying to me for months now. I don’t like people taking what’s mine without asking.”

“ _I_ took what’s yours without asking.”

“Did you know?” he asked, not looking at her. “I only remember you sitting on my desk, while someone _else_ did the taking.”

“What about your tie though?”

“Oh, _hush._ ” he said, and she giggled. “Stop pointing out holes in my flawless logic, you devil in heels.”

“Keep calling me _devil_ , and you might just summon one.”

“Alright, you dress-wearing fiend.”

“Are you trying to see if you’re going to like me if I stop being nice?”

“No, because I already know the answer.” he said quietly; and when she looked up at him, even though he was taller, even though there was a power inequality at play - she felt as if she’s looking down at him.

She liked that sensation. A lot.

After they went back into the gallery - and he was right, the order _was_ too big for her to carry it alone, because she was still just an average person, and not an athlete - he returned to being professional. It was amusing - and not very convincing.

 


	3. iii

He was very tense on the day of his meeting with the artist; and he looked like he barely slept the night before. It was understandable; last night Penguin and Batman were chasing Falcone’s drug transport around the Diamond District - and Oswald had another meeting scheduled for that night, a personal one, with an old friend at a bar. He probably only came home at the break of dawn - and it was showing, the lack of sleep and stress.

“What?” he asked, looking up from his laptop. “Come again?”

“Coffee?” she asked for the fourth time; he sighed.

“Yes, please.”

(She liked the way he said _please._ )

“You're very tense.” she said, handing him a cup of pitch black coffee with some brown sugar. “Like a piece of string, really to snap.”

“I didn't sleep well.” he admitted, his hands shaking slightly. “I figure anything more exciting than _you_ is… Too much for my faint, sheltered heart.”

“I thought you're used to Gotham’s dangers after… What, thirty years of living here?”

“Experience doesn't make sleeping at night any ea _what are you doing?”_

She had placed herself behind his back, and put her hands on his shoulders, absentmindedly noting that he probably has a nice body underneath the clothes; his shoulders were firm, but not bulky - and he was _very_ tense.

“Helping you to loosen up.” she said, pressing and rubbing gently. “Focus now. What are you reading?”

“A review of a recent gallery opening in Houston.” he muttered as her fingers explored him over the shirt, pressing lightly, possessively, tenderly; and she remembered how it felt to tie him up (nice) and she wanted to just wrap her arms around him from behind and rest her chin on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” she asked, slowly working her way towards his neck. “And how was it.”

“Absolutely dreadful.” he breathed out, and she smiled lightly; the spot at the bottom of the back of his neck was sensitive, and tense, and she deliberately took her sweet time, noticing how he tries to pretend he’s not gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

“Come again?” she said, gently brushing the hollow spot a bit higher with her fingertips, while still gently massaging the bottom.

“ _Breath-taking._ ” he breathed out “Sorry. I meant… Dreadful.”

His voice broke for a moment, and he gulped, and she could hear he’s breathing heavily.

Oh, she was going to have _so_ much fun with him.

“Better now?” she eventually asked, taking a step back. “By the way, I think we should be on our way to the meeting now.”

It was hard to not notice a very simple truth, manifesting itself as a noticeable bulge as he walked past her; she laughed quietly, walking into the elevator and he followed, barely touching the back of her hand with his fingertips.

***

“Bring something comfortable with you.” she told him as she was leaving his side at Friday, ready to go home and prepare for the date.

“Like..?”

“Like something you wear when you’re home alone and getting ready for a cozy evening with ice cream and crappy romcoms.” she said, not looking at him; she _knew_ he has an affinity for cheesy romances of all sorts. She had no problem imagining him with a pint of ice cream, watching _Mamma Mia!_ or _When You Were Sleeping_ , and eventually falling asleep.

(It was an oddly endearing image; him asleep on his ludicrously comfortable couch, with movie playing in the background, as the forgotten ice cream melts and turns into a half-assed milkshake.)

She kissed the corner of his mouth before leaving, and he sighed.

“You’re killing me, Charlie.” he said quietly. “Can I get whiny and overdramatic for a little?”

“Sure.” she agreed, despite already knowing what is he going to say; she knew she has to throw him a bone at some point, otherwise he might get bored and lose interest.

(Or impatient. In a way, she wouldn’t mind his impatience; but it was complicated.)

“My lips are burning and I think I might die a slow, painful death if I don’t get to kiss you at some point.” he muttered, going through the papers in his desk drawer, not looking up. “I’m a delicate flower, about to perish.”

“Sure.” she nodded, rolling her eyes. “See you after the weekend, mister Cobblepot. Try to not set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

He shot her a panicked look - and she blew him a kiss before leaving, truly hoping that he _will_ get a hint she did _not_ just cancel their plans for tonight.

Luckily - he did; there was a knock at her door as she was getting around to the last finishing touches of her getup.

“Coming!” she called out, putting the brush down and one last time looking at her reflection; her freckles were nowhere to be seen, her eyes and lips were accentuated sharply and her hair were impeccable.

And her pink, fluffy bathrobe looked unassuming and comfortable; in fact - Oswald snickered when she opened the door and he saw what is she wearing.

“Is _that_ why you told me to bring something comfy?” he asked, coming in. “Is this going to be a movie date?”

“That’d work out better at _your_ place.” she said, closing the door behind him. “I don’t even have a tv.”

“Color me intrigued. Also, I brought the good stuff.” he added, showing her a bag. “Some wine, something sweet, something savory…”

“Would you bring me sushi if I asked you to?”

“Sushi, caviar… I would. I’m a people pleaser.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” she said, quietly taking her robe off; underneath - she only had her best lace lingerie. A see-through bra, equally transparent panties, a garter belt and stockings; she called it _her battle armor_ ; Selina called it _overpriced, definitely overpriced_.

(It _was_ expensive, that much was true.)

“What can I say? I aim to please.” he said, putting the bag down in the kitchen; and finally, he turned around and looked at her.

“Do you now.” she said as he stood there, processing what he was looking at. “Is everything alright?”

“It is _now_.” he said finally; he sounded…

He sounded delighted and amazed and hungry and solemn, and she smiled; she liked that tone. It suited him, same way his earlier sternness when he was talking to Tennyson and Schulz suited him.

“Wine?” she asked, entering the kitchen and opening the nearby cabinet, where she kept the the wine glasses; but he shook his head.

“Let’s chill it first.” he suggested instead, not taking his eyes off her. “I… Oh. Did you say something?”

“Seems to me like you’re having a _very_ intense dialogue with yourself. Need a moment?”

“I want to know if we’re on the same page here.” he said, still staring; and his eyes on her felt _right_. “Charades aside. Please. What… What do you have in mind for tonight?”

She couldn’t help, but smile at his tone, both pleading and helpless and filled with hope.

“How cruel would it be for me to tell you to guess?”

“ _Very_ cruel.” he replied. “Do you want me to drop down to my knees and beg for clarification? I can do that.”

“Save your breath.” she finally said; she walked up to him and he stood there, completely motionless. “I’m feeling nice. I can tell you.”

She pulled his tie lightly, and he leaned in; she untied it slowly, lightly brushing his neck with her fingertips.

“First, I’m going to kiss you.” she said finally. “Then I’m going to get you out of those nice clothes, since it’d be a shame if something happened to them. Then I’m going to wait for you to maybe put something comfortable on. And then… Remember how you told me you like to deny yourself certain pleasures from time to time?”

“Yes.” he breathed out.

“That’s precisely what I’m going to do.” she said quietly. “All while not denying anything to _myself_ , of course.”

“Are you going to make me beg?”

“Multiple times.” she said, discarding his tie. “And for multiple things. For me to touch you, for me to _not_ touch you, for me to put your clever mouth and nimble tongue to use… By the time the sun rises, you’re going to be so used to saying _please_ it’ll come easier to you than saying your own name out loud.”

“Alright.” he choked out; and she laughed and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him and he kissed back instantly, only breaking the kiss for a second.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered; and she shook her head.

“You have to earn that.”

She sort of regretted saying that; his hands were nice, and she wished he’d put them on her back and pull her closer. But he didn’t, instead resting them against the nearby counter; and she unbuttoned his shirt, button after a button, slowly, meticulously, carefully.

“Scars?” she whispered, gently sliding her hands across his chest; he was firm and lean and he had a _lot_ of scars. “What secrets are you hiding, Oswald?”

“Oh, you know how it is.” he said raspily as she kissed his neck. “Some muggings, some misadventures…”

“Mmmm. Get changed.” she said, taking a step back. “There’s a long night ahead of you.”

“My safeword’s _Bruce_ , by the way.” he said as she gently pushed him towards the bathroom; she laughed.

“Really? I thought you love him.”

“That’s because I do, but we’re _brothers_. And, since I consider myself to be normal… Nothing ruins the mood quite as fast as the name of your step-sibling in the middle of… What are you going to do to me, exactly?”

“How do you feel about being teased?”

“Love to hate it.”

“Right. So, like I was saying… Nothing ruins the mood quite as fast as the name of your step-sibling being dropped in the middle of someone finding out how much _exactly_ can be accomplished with a fingertip and lots of patience.”

“Oh?”

“The answer is _everything_ , by the way.”

When he left the bathroom, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants - she was waiting for him with a long rope in her hands.

“Oh, my.” he said at that sight. “Are you going to tie me up?”

“Mmm-hmmmm.”

And she did; methodically, slowly, carefully, same way she did back at the museum, during the break-in, with his hands behind his back and his wrists suspended.

“You’re good with knots.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“So you have me half naked and tied up. What happens now?”

“You talk a _lot_. Now is the part where you shut up.”

He wanted to say something; but she shut him up with a kiss.

“Quiet.” she whispered eventually. “Learn your place.”

“Show me then.”

And she did; she showed him his place, and the word he should be saying far more often.

“Do you know what my principle is?” she asked him; she was giving him another massage, laughing quietly, because the back of his neck was a sweet spot, and so were his shoulders; and he was writhing occasionally, as she was taking her time with him, her hands free to explore at however speed she pleased.

“No, but something tells me I’m about to find out.”

“ _Ladies first_.” she replied; they were in an odd position of sorts, her sitting on the couch with her legs wrapped around his waist; and him on the floor, with his back to her, as she was massaging him. “Do you know what it applies to?”

“Walking through the doors?”

“Oh, you’re sweet. That’s not what I meant though.”

“And what _did_ you mean?”

“Orgasms.” she said calmly; and he laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“Your _tone_.” he said. “Naturally, you’re right.”

He shuddered slightly when she lightly scratched the back of his neck; she then lightly caressed his face with her fingertips.

“Of course I’m right.” she finally said, unwrapping her legs. “Get up.”

He did, quickly and without stumbling; and she raised her brows, wondering where and how did this spoiled millionaire get agile enough to not stumble when getting up with his hands tied.

“You’re agile.” she pointed out, getting up from the couch and walking past him; she could see his eyes on her back. “Come on.”

She stood next to her bed and patted the pillow lightly.

“Lay down.”

“You _could_ just tie me to bed, you know.” he said, laying down on his back; but she shook her head.

“You can trash around _so much more_ with your hands like this.” she said, sitting on his stomach. “And Oswald, I _am_ going to make you squirm tonight.”

She traced a line down his face and throat and chest with her fingertips, slowly, deliberately, gently.

“That _ladies first_ principle in regards to orgasms.” he said, as she was drawing a spiral on his skin with her fingertip. “Where’s the catch?”

“Oh, you’re _clever_. Alright, I’ll tell you.”

She reached back with her hand, and rested it between his legs; he squirmed slightly as she teased him lightly through the fabric of his pants, his breath quickening - but he kept his eyes on her, faithfully, adoringly.

“You’re such a sweet, polite guy, Oswald. Surely you’ve got nothing against helping a lady out. Right?”

Judging from his expression - he connected the dots.

“Catches upon catches in your principle.” he said quietly. “So I only get to come if I make _you_ come. How nicely should I ask for that privilege?”

Instead of replying, she only smiled; he knew the rules well. What he _didn’t_ know, however - was the fact she was only throwing him a bone that night.

She moved herself from his stomach to his lap, lightly tapping at the forming bulge, and he squirmed lightly.

“Doesn’t take much to get you excited.”

“Or maybe it _does_ take much, like two weeks of you being an insufferable tease.” he shot back, and she laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“Keep that snark up.” she replied, pulling his pants down a bit. “Ooooh.”

Her reaction had nothing to do with his size; that, by itself, wasn’t impressive. Not that it was a _bad_ thing - he was average, but definitely on the bigger side of the scale. Personally, she considered it to be an optimal size; she wasn’t too fond of inserting anything big into herself. It hurt, plain and simple; and she was relieved to note that this time she won’t have to grit her teeth and think of happier times in order to not cry.

No, her - poorly concealed - excitement came from something Victoria did not mention; his tip was pierced.

She nudged the metal decoration lightly, and Oswald yelped.

“Did it hurt?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” he breathed out; and she laughed quietly. “Just… Be gentle, alright?”

“Oh, I’m going to.” she assured him; she moved up a bit, stroking him lightly with her fingertips. “I’m going to be so _very_ gentle.”

Not taking her eyes off him, she started to lightly grind her clothed mound against him, lightly, slowly, just enough to get him going. A slow, steady pace; just enough to get him hard.

And then - she stopped, as his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily.

“Don’t stop.” he said pleadingly. “ _Please_.”

“Begging already? I’ve barely just started.” she replied, taking a box from a night table next to his head. “Save your breath. I have _so much_ planned for you.”

“Such as..?”

She put the box down on his stomach and opened it, revealing its contents; a collection of brushes, both makeup and painting ones. They were all relatively cheap, since she saw no point in investing _too_ much into this relationship; but they varied in stiffness and texture, and that was all that mattered.

Soon Oswald stopped being eloquent, as she traced slow lines on his skin; suddenly the only sounds he was making were meaningless and erratic.

And he thrashed around a lot; and she found herself enjoying watching him and the way he squirmed, trying to get out of his bonds.

“You’re making a mess.” she said, as the box of brushes fell off him, its contents spilling all across the bed. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I should have tied you better.”

She reached for a random brush.

“Maybe I should go with mummification next time.” she mused, resuming the teasing. “Hm? What do you think?”

“Personally I think you’re the devil incarnate.” he panted out, writhing helplessly. She figured it wouldn’t be too hard for him to just throw her off him; but he didn’t, reserving all movement for the top half of his body.

He raised his head a bit, staring at her hands helplessly as she teased him slowly; she wondered if his current state is painful.

He arched his back compulsively a bit when the tip of the brush started to draw a small, slow spiral around his piercing.

“I think I’m bored.” she said eventually, putting the brush down and stroking him with her fingertips instead. “And you still haven’t begged me for anything yet. _Bo-ring._ ”

“My apol _ogies_.” he breathed out, his voice breaking just a bit. “I didn’t mean to be such a bore.”

“I think it’s time I focused on _myself_ for a bit.” she mused. “Don’t you think?”

“Of course.” he breathed out as she moved herself up again. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

“You’re sweet.” she said, reaching for the night table’s drawer and pulling a small, battery powered vibe out. “But you’re also _so_ very boring.”

She also pulled a blindfold out; and he gulped.

“Don’t put this on me.” he said pleadingly. “ _Please_.”

“I’m not sure whether you deserve it.” she replied, rolling the blindfold up and lightly tapping his chin with it. “Watching me… That’s a _privilege.”_

“Please.” he repeated with exasperation. “ _Please_.”

“Please… What? What are you asking for? Be specific.”

“Let me watch you.” he said, sounding resigned. “Please?”

“I’m going to blindfold you if you don’t stop giving me puppy eyes.”

“Oh _really_?” he asked; and suddenly he didn’t sound so pleading and compliant anymore. “I doubt that.”

“ _What_?” she asked, taken aback but this sudden change in his tone.

“You like getting attention from me.” he said with a lazy smile that caused a shiver to run down her spine. “And you like my puppy eyes. Admit it.”

“I’m not admitting _anything_.” she said, kind of flustered. “Keep digging your own grave though.”

He laughed when she leaned in and covered his eyes with the blindfold; and he kept laughing as she kissed his neck, even though quick his laughter got very breathy.

“Bend your legs. I need a backrest.”

“Is this honestly _all_ you’re going to use me for tonight?” he asked as she comfortably leaned against his legs.

“We’ll see.” she said, sliding the vibe into her panties and turning it on. “We’ll see.”

He said something else, but she ignored him completely; she could feel him writing underneath her as she was masturbating.

She couldn’t be _too_ loud - the walls of her apartment were paper thin, and she’d rather her neighbours didn’t know anything about her sex life - but she was sure he can hear every sound she made.

“If only that blindfold wasn’t in place.” she said quietly, breathily. “Wouldn’t you want to _see_?”

“ _Please_.” he pleaded. “ _Please_.”

“Keep going.” she told him, pressing the vibe lightly against her clit; she was sensitive down there, and the vibe was rather intense for a cheap piece of plastic she bought on Amazon. “Keep begging to see me.”

“ _Please._ Do you want me to drop down to my knees?” he asked; and she laughed.

“Yes.” she eventually said, putting the device down; she was close, and her thoughts were just a bit blurry, and her tongue was just a bit heavy.

She reached towards the drawer again; it was much bigger than it looks - plus she liked having everything on hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as she pulled a long piece of rough rope out; he turned his head, trying to see what was she doing.

“Making sure you _mean_ it.” she replied; she tied one end around the vibe and wrapped the other one around his cock; he inhaled sharply at the rough sensation, and she teased him a bit, lightly moving the rope around, careful to not make the experience painful. Eventually she pulled his pants back up and nudged him in the rips with her foot.

“Come on. Kneel for me.”

And he did; and she turned the vibe back on as he was kneeling, and rested her right foot on his right shoulder, listening to his quiet gasps.

“ _Please_.” he repeated. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“Please..?”

“Let me see you.”

She laughed and took the blindfold off his face, and he squinted slightly.

“Such a shame.” she said, shaking her head. “I was about to offer you a deal, but if you’re _so_ adamant on watching me instead…”

“What?” he asked, visibly surprised.

“I was about to say _if you can take just listening to me for a couple minutes more, I’m going to let you put your clever mouth to a better use_.” she said sadly. “Which would probably mean _you_ would get something out of tonight as well. But, since you are _so_ impatient…”

“You _really_ are the devil.” he said, watching as she reached for the vibe again. “Did I really accidentally forfeit my chance?”

“Yes.” she said, turning the toy back on, pressing it against herself; he gasped quietly and she laughed, but soon her laughter stopped and was replaced with quiet moaning and she arched her back and her thighs trembled - all while he watched and his eyes almost burned her skin and she almost regretted playing this game with him, where he was the designated loser, because to be honest - she didn’t feel like a winner.

But she decided to grin and bear it, and go on without his fingers or his mouth on her.

“Like what you saw?” she asked him, breathing heavily; he nodded silently.

“Next time I won’t forfeit my chance.” he promised her raspily, and she laughed and pushed his head between her thighs.

“You can kiss me.” she told him, playing with his hair. “That’s as far as you’re getting tonight.”

She instantly regretted saying this; because when he kissed the insides of her thighs, just outside her undies, looking her in the eye - it felt electric. And suddenly she didn’t feel in control anymore; but she didn’t mind.

“Are you going to untie me now?” he asked, still on his knees; he rested his chin against her knee. “I could really use a shower.”

“Let me guess. You’re going to jerk off.”

“Actually, no.” he said; and he sounded sincere. “Your place, your rules. No jerking off in the shower.”

“And once you get home..?”

“I _really_ need that shower.” he said, instead of replying.

Before she untied him, she toyed with him for a while longer; he reacted beautifully to her grinding herself against him, laughing in his face.

Eventually she untied him, lightly pecking at the back of his neck.

“Christ.” he muttered, spreading his arms as wide as possible. “ _Now_ I’m all stiff and tense.”

“I can help with that. My massages are incredible.”

“Just as long as you leave my neck alone.” he muttered, as she sat on his back. “ _Please_.”

She _did_ briefly stroke his neck with her fingertips; and he groaned, pressing his face into her pillow.

“Your pillow smells nice.” he said, his voice muffled. “Even though your bed is terrifyingly uncomfortable.”

“Not all of us can afford state-of-the-art furniture, you spoiled brat.”

“Is that your way of asking for a raise? Before even getting a _first_ paycheck?”

“Not really, no. Better?” she asked, taking her hands off his shoulders.

“A lot.” he sighed, and lifted himself up on his elbows; but she didn’t budge.

“Charlie?” he asked; and her hands wandered down his torso, towards his hips. She pulled his pants down slightly, just a bit; just enough for her to lightly caress his hips with her fingertips, just enough to be able to trace slow lines down the warm crevices atop of his thighs. “Oh, you _devil_.”

“Go take a shower.” she said, sliding off his back. “I’m hungry. What did you bring?”

“Those bonbons I promised you.” he said, getting up. “Some artisanal onion rings, some salad, some fried rice… I might have went overboard.”

“And now everything’s disgusting and cold.”

“Good food’s as good cold, as it is warm.” he said with a shrug. “Do you have a spare towel?”

“Way ahead of you. The black one.”

After they both showered - she didn’t even bother with putting anything on, and only threw her robe on - they sat down with the food and wine he brought. It was great, as usual; even if the rings lost some of their crispness, and rice got a bit dense.

He lied on the couch with his head in her lap; her hand was in his hair and it felt so nice, just being like this.

“And you _really_ didn’t jerk off in the shower.” she giggled, pointing at his crotch; he was still hard, and she was just a bit tipsy from the wine. “Gotta say, that’s admirable.”

“I’m a man of my word.” he sighed. “Also I want something sweet now.”

She snorted quietly.

“Do you mean this?” she asked, picking a coconut bonbon up. “Or… Me?”

“Considering how tipsy you are, I think I’ll go with this.” he said, taking her by her wrist and guiding her fingers towards his mouth.

“Be honest though.” she said stubbornly, as he kissed her fingertips. “If I told you to do so, right now… Would you?”

“Would I _what_?”

She scoffed.

“Go down on me!” she said. “Eat me out! Would you?”

“If you were sober.”

“But I _am_ sober.”

“You most absolutely are not.” he said; he turned his head and placed a light kiss on her thigh. “I can humor you a bit though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmmhmm. I can give you a detailed description of what could theoretically happen if you were sober.”

“...go on.”

“ _I can_ does not mean _I will_.” he said with a shrug, and she laughed. “You’re not going to remember anything tomorrow anyway.”

“But I’m not drunk!”

She didn’t get him talking that night; and soon she started to yawn.

“You’re going to be my pillow tonight.” she announced, getting up. “Consider yourself warned. I’m _super_ clingy when I’m asleep.”

“I don’t mind.” he said, typing something on his phone. “I’ll join you soon. I just have to send this email.”

“Is this a _work_ email?”

“My _work_ emails go through you first. Believe it or not, I _do_ have personal life.” he said, turning his head and looking at her. “Go to sleep, Charlie.”

“Ugh. _Fine._ ” she muttered. “G’night.”

“Goodnight, she-devil.”

He laid down next to her shortly before she fell asleep; and she wrapped herself around him. He was comfortable to lie down on, and warm; and his hands on her back felt good, even though she wished he’d move them down, down, down.

***

She woke up alone in bed; and for a moment, just for a couple seconds - she felt a surge of panic running through her body, because back _then_ she also woke up alone, after a night spent with someone she-

There was a note on the night table.

 

_I had to go way earlier than anticipated. Sorry for sneaking out, but you were impossible to wake up.  
Got you some breakfast. Call me once you get up._

 

She re-read it eating her breakfast; somehow Oswald managed to find good bagels somewhere near her place, as well as good toppings. That by itself was a no small feat; because by herself - she hadn’t even manage to find a _Tesco_ anywhere near her apartment.

Someone knocked at her door when she was lost in thought and she sighed and shuffled in the direction of the sound, yawning.

The sight of Victoria woke her up very quickly.

“A little bird told me they saw Oswald Cobblepot here a couple of hours ago.” she said briskly, walking past frozen Charlie. “Saturday, early morning hours… Did he spend a night here?”

“He did.” Charlie said with resignation; and Victoria scoffed.

“Why the long face? You’re doing _great_. That being said though… I need an ETA from you.”

“Already?” Charlie asked faintly. “But you told me there’s no time limit.”

“Things had changed. My plans can proceed without him for a while - but I _need_ to have him on my side eventually. And to do that… I need you to finish what you started. So.” she said, crossing her arms. “I need a timeframe. How much longer until finding out the truth about you will absolutely _devastate_ him?”

“What the _fuck_ are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Something selfish and noble, at the same time.” she replied lightly. “Give me an answer.”

“Give me two months.” Charlie finally replied. “Alright? In two months, he’s going to be head over heels in love with me.”

“And _you_ will have a two months worth of a salary as his assistant. I’ll leave you to it then.” she added, turning around; and for a moment - just for a moment - Charlie briefly considered grabbing a nearby knife and literally stabbing the woman in the back, quick and deep, enough to make her bleed out. “Two months and not a moment later.”

“And not a moment later.” Charlie agreed, feeling a tight lump in her throat; maybe she was getting sick.

After Victoria left, Charlie called Oswald, wondering what happened to cause him to sneak out while she was sleeping.

“You’re not _mad,_ are you?” he asked immediately after picking up; there was an echo in the background.

“Of course I’m not _mad_. Maybe just a bit sad about waking up alone, but hey - you left me a note. Also… You wanted me to call. Did something happen?”

“Well, I _did_ miss out on my chance to watch you wake up.” he said; and she smiled. “And I wanted to hear your voice today. Is that a crime?”

“Punishable by death.” she said, flopping down onto her bed. “Or something more pleasant.”

“Oooh, a _punishment_? What a capricious mistress you are.”

“I am.” she agreed with a yawn. “Seriously though. Did you _really_ want me to call just so you could hear me? Because that’s… Kind of cute, actually. Watch out, I might think you’re developing _feelings_ for me.”

“I am incapable of love.” he said; and she rolled her eyes. So many people said that; so many people were proven wrong, the hard way. “Or so I’ve been told. Are you home right now?”

“I just woke up. Thanks for the breakfast, by the way. That was… A nice gesture.”

“Like I said - I’m a pleaser. Can you not go anywhere in the next… Thirty minutes? I’m going to send out a courier with a little something for you.”

“...it’s not a bomb, right? Or anthrax.”

“Anthrax went out of style a couple years ago. No, no, this is something you’re going to like. Or… So I believe. Oh, I have to go now.” he added when someone said something in the background in an impatient tone. “Do let me know when you get the gift though. Tatty-bye!”

He hung up; and she found herself _smiling_ as she was dressing up.

The package arrived precisely twenty five minutes later; it was delivered by a petite looking young woman in a suit, who definitely didn’t look like she was working for FedEx or UPS.

“Should I sign something..?” Charlie asked hesitantly as the woman handed her a box; to which she scoffed.

“Nope.” she replied. “I’ll just text him. Wait, what _exactly_ did he tell you?”

“That he’s going to send a courier.”

“That pompous ass!” the woman scoffed. “I’m not a _courier_ , I’m his _driver_.”

“A _driver_?” Charlie asked, furrowing her brows. “He can drive though. Does so plenty of times every week.”

“Sure he can drive.” the woman said with a shrug. “Except when he _can’t_. And that’s when he calls _me_. Well, that and when he needs something delivered. Like… Whatever the hell this is.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m his _assistant_. And I didn’t even know he has a _driver_.”

“I’m not officially listed anywhere. Mostly because I don’t even have a license.” she said with a shrug; she turned around and left before Charlie said anything.

Inside the box were two things; another box - matte and black, with the logo of Wayne Enterprises on top - and a small, paper envelope. The envelope only had one thing inside - a small key.

The Wayne Ent box, on the other hand, contained something _much_ more interesting - a rose gold-colored phone, the latest, most expensive version of the brand’s flagship Lifeline device; as well as a complete set of accessories, from two chargers, to five sheets of protective foil.

She quickly put her SIM and memory cards into the new toy, more than happy about finally replacing her phone that was actually on the brink of falling apart; moments later - after turning the device on, giving the Penny software installed inside some informations about its owner, such as name, birthday and favorite color - she decided to text Oswald. Saying _thanks for spending a small fortune on me_ seemed fitting.

 

_thanks!! does your driver really not have a license?  
_ **I plead the fifth. So… Do you like it?  
** _i took a test photo of a slice of bread from across the room and i can count all the pores!! i’m going to take SO MANY bad selfies with it.  
_ **Can I see them?  
** _you will, if you ask nicely. ; ) btw what does the key open? : o  
_ **I can show you. It’s… A dick pic, of sorts.  
** _...go on.  
_ **Remember how you said I’m probably going to jack off as soon as I get home?  
** _oh. oh. OH. i think i know. i still wanna see though._

 

Moments later, she got a picture; and just like she thought - Oswald Cobblepot actually put on a _chastity cage_. One of the more reasonable models, consisting mostly of black metal rings, with no painful add-ons.

 

**So that’s what the key opens. ¯\\_(** **ツ** **)_/¯ Taa-dah.  
** _mfmdkgjgkslfjgjdkghg oh my godddddddd  
_ **Just keep it to yourself. I’d hate for** _**this** _ **to be my first leaked pic.  
** _your secret’s safe with me. well, safe’s not exactly a right word, because i’m SO going to use it against you._   
**Wasn’t hoping for anything less. Be mean. I like it when you’re mean.**

 

For some reason that last thing made her cheeks turn red, and her heart skip a beat; but she decided to not think about it too much. Maybe she suddenly became a method actress.

***

“You _do_ remember about this weekend, right?” he asked her on Monday; and she furrowed her brows.

“No.” she eventually said. “Is this a professional question, or..?”

“There’s a conference in New York.” Oswald said with an amused smile. “One we’re going to. Remind me, what am I paying you for?”

“Looking nice and being very distracting?”

“Among other things.” he sighed as she placed herself behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “But. Back to the weekend.”

“Mmm. What about it?” she asked, rubbing lightly; and he squirmed and she laughed, the key he sent her dangling from a delicate chain around her neck.

“We’re going. I go as a speaker, and you… As my assistant.”

“Alright.” she said, her voice breaking just a bit; ever since _the thing_ \- she hadn’t visited New York even once. “Sorry. This one thing… Slipped my mind.”

“S’alright.” he muttered; he was typing something and she saw him make _so many_ spelling errors. “There’s no point in paying for train tickets, New York’s almost in a walking distance from Gotham. We’ll go by car.”

“Who’s going to drive?”

“Me. O’Keefe has a weekend off.”

“So I guess I’ll have to behave.” she sighed theatrically, scratching the back of his neck lightly. “To avoid causing a car crash.”

“I’m not _that_ easily distracted, you know.”

But he was forced to take that back; he got very distracted very quickly once she sat down at the edge of his desk, gently nudging his thighs with her foot, nothing more and nothing less.

“By the end of Friday, you’re going to be begging me for that key.” she giggled, watching him squirm. “Such a shame we’re going there as mister Cobblepot and his assistant, no? You’re going to have to be _so_ professional…”

“You’re a demon.” he muttered as she got up. “You hear me? A _demon_.”

She blew him a kiss on her way out.

***

It was undeniably a very long week for him; and when the Friday came - he seemed to be equally tired and excited.

“Do you want me to go easy on you?” she asked, handing him her bag, packed for the weekend. “Just say if I’m being too much.”

“The entire _point_ of this thing is for you to be unbearable and for me to suffer.” he said, putting the bag into the trunk of his car. “Did you pack everything?”

She rolled her eyes and showed him a handwritten list with everything ticked off; from clothes to cosmetics to-

“What’s _winky face_?”

“None of your business.” she said, taking the paper from his hand, brushing his skin with her fingertips; he sighed theatrically.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so gloom.” she said as he was helping her get into the car. “It’s going to be fun!”

“Conferences are _never_ fun. They’re boring and tiring and not worth it.” he announced. “I don’t even remember what I’m going to be talking about.”

“Dangers related to working with art.”

“Oh, that’s the one.”

The ride from Gotham to New York really was short - too short for her to prepare herself for the familiar sight. A hospital where her mother used to work, a community center where her father used to pick fights for the sake of people who couldn’t afford to resort to physical violence; a building where they all used to live, in the comfortable penthouse, high enough to consider their apartment to be their island of peace - but not high enough to forget about rest of the world.

Charlie instinctively looked away when they were driving past the entrance; and Oswald noticed.

“Is something wrong?”

“I used to know someone who lived here.” she muttered, trying to not cry; she couldn’t help but wonder who is _now_ living in the penthouse, who is _now_ residing in the room that used to be hers, what became of her father’s office and her mother’s reading nook and their kitchen and their _home_.

“From your expression I take this one does not have a happy ending.”

She shrugged with a bitter smile.

“We parted ways. Haven’t heard from her in a couple years. I sometimes wonder what became of her.”

“I don’t know what to say, to be honest. Do you want to… Talk?”

“No. Let the bygones be bygones, and so on.”

“Charlie-”

“I said I don’t want to talk!” she snapped, angrily slamming her fist against her knee. “Drop the topic, you entitled prick!”

“...alright.” he said after a long, heavy pause. “I’m sorry.”

They didn’t talk much for the next couple hours; he was tense and focused on the road - and there was too much boiling inside of her.

Then they didn’t talk much, because they’ve reached the conference center; and apparently it wasn’t normal for gallery owners and their assistants to engage in casual, straight up friendly conversations.

The conference center had its own hotel; and Charlie’s bed was infinitely more comfortable than the one at home - but she couldn’t quite remain still. She was restless, unable to focus on anything, from reading to playing _Angry Birds_ on her brand new phone; there was an unpleasant buzzing in her ears, and her cheeks were red and hot and she felt so, so ashamed.

 _Ashamed_? No, not ashamed; why would she? He was just a stepping stone to her, just a way of achieving her final goal; but she did possibly put an irreparable dent into their oddly developing relationship.

“Oh, _Jesus_.” she groaned, finally realizing she - quite possibly - messed up everything she had achieved so far. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

She needed a drink. Or five.

She called the room service - but was informed that alcohol will not be delivered to the rooms of conference attendees. She could, naturally, go to a hotel bar - but that’d mean many risks. She didn’t want to get drunk in public, and she didn’t want to make friends among other assistants; she didn’t want to be hit on, and she didn’t want to accidentally bump into someone who used to know her parents.

(Though the latter wasn’t exactly a risk; people seemed to treat the overworked, stressed out people following the laid back, overly friendly businessmen like faceless shadow. Chances are - no one would even notice her face.)

Eventually she decided on the most complicated solution of them all - going to a nearby supermarket and buying a bottle or two. She _needed_ that drink. Bad.

Her room was located exactly across Oswald’s; and when she walked past - she could hear his voice. He was talking to someone, and he sounded lively and unbothered. He laughed; and she felt a tight lump in her throat, because suddenly…

Suddenly she felt _lonely_. Not important, irrelevant to anyone’s genuine happiness. She missed Selina, who still hadn’t text her back after she messaged her a couple of hours ago, she missed her parents, she missed her old friends, she missed being really, genuinely important to someone again, as herself, as her _real_ self, and not as a cardboard cutout of a person, tailored to someone’s exact preferences.

She only cried in the elevator; and people in the hotel’s hall seemed to not be bothered by a visibly stressed out, young woman with red, puffy eyes. They also weren’t bothered when the same woman came back some time later, carrying two bottles of pink wine; in fact - someone gave her a thumbs-up.

Oswald was standing on the corridor, leaning against the wall next to the door to her room; he was typing something on his phone, with his brows furrowed. He looked up when he heard her footsteps; and his face actually lit up and he seemed _relieved_.

“Did you go out without your phone?”

“I only took my wallet.” she said, standing still in the middle of the hallway. “Why?”

“Because I tried to reach you.” he said, putting his phone in his pocket. “Then I thought you’re probably giving me the silent treatment.”

“Sorry.” she muttered, walking up to her door and setting the bag down on the ground; he picked it up before she said anything.

“Drinking your problems away?”

“Maybe.” she said tiredly; her hand was shaking when she fished the key out, and for a moment - she couldn’t fit it into the hole. “Damn.”

Finally the door opened and she turned around and grabbed her bag, pulling lightly - but he didn’t let go of it. Neither he took his eyes off her.

“Give it back.” she said. “I paid for it.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s good for you though. You’re going to have a hangover.”

“I just want to get drunk.” she said, feeling a tight lump in her throat. “So give me my wine.”

“You’re not supposed to get drunk on the job.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What, are you going to _fire_ me?”

“Why are you like this, Charlie?” he asked tiredly. “I just wanted to talk. Find out what exactly I did wrong.”

“ _NOTHING_!” she snapped, feeling her eyes filling up with tears. “Can you give me wine back now please?”

“Are you… Trying to get drunk because of what happened earlier?” he asked hesitantly, still not letting go of the bag. “I think we should talk.”

He entered her room behind her and closed the door behind them; he put the bag down next to them and leaned against the bathroom door, standing between Charlie and her precious rosé; she sat down at the edge of her bed, nervously playing with the bedsheet.

“I overreacted.” she finally said, not looking at him. “I yelled at you for nothing. And now I feel bad.”

“You _did_ say something incredibly mean.” he said; and she sighed, still not looking at him. “But… I _do_ like it when you’re mean.”

“Don’t say that.” she said tiredly. “I snapped for no reason. And I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean it. It’s been… A _while_ since someone snapped at me.” he said; and she sighed again. “That was… An exciting new experience.”

“I yelled at you for nothing. You can say it was awful, really.”

“Human psyche is a complicated thing.” he said lightly. “I’m not… Hurt, if that’s what you’re so afraid of.”

“I still feel awful though.” she muttered; she was telling the truth - even though the fact she snapped at him was simply the tip of the iceberg. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” he said lightly; and she looked at him in disbelief. “I can’t quite be _mad_ at you.”

“...what?”

“You look like a kicked puppy.” he said in the same light, casual tone. “Also there’s a matter of that key dangling around your neck. I think I’d rather… _Not_ argue with someone who has it.”

“But you have the _right_ to be angry!” she said desperately. “I acted like a dick. I hurt you.”

“And apologised.” he added. “So… It’s all good in my books.”

“Why are you so frustratingly _easy going_ and _nice_?!” she asked tearfully. “Be mad at me, for fuck’s sake!”

“Nope. Not gonna happen.”

She threw a pillow at him angrily; he didn’t move as it hit him in the face.

“You have to try harder if you want to get a reaction out of me.”

“Are you trying to talk me into repeating last Friday night?” she asked, reaching for another pillow. “Too much effort. Sorry.”

“There are other ways a mistress can be mean.” he said with a shrug. “You don’t even have to lift a finger.”

He looked at her with a playful spark in his eyes, and a pleading smile; and it was _irresistible_.

“You know what? Fine.” she said, motioning for him to come closer. “If I can’t get _drunk_ to feel better, then maybe _this_ will do.”

“Are you implying I’m worse than alcohol?”

“You’re persistent.” she said, grabbing him by his tie and pulling, forcing him to bend down. “And you talk _so_ much. _Wine_ doesn’t talk.”

“ _Wine_ can’t do half the things _I_ can do.” he said as she untied his tie, kissing the corner of his lips; she laughed, pushing him away lightly.

“Take your shirt off.” she ordered him, already getting out of her own clothes. “I don’t think I can afford buying you a new one.”

“...I have a washing machine, you know. I can get some bodily fluids out of fabric.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, watching him. “Hey hey hey _hey_. Did I say anything about your _pants_?”

“But-”

“Tonight is about _me._ ” she interrupted him. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

He moved his hands behind his back; and then proceeded to completely ruin any semblance of seriousness by wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“God, you’re _awful_.” she muttered. “Come on. Get over here.”

She made him be slow; even though she found herself almost _melting_ when his lips were on her neck and he took her bra off and cupped her breasts lightly.

“Be gentle.” she muttered, closing her eyes. “Use your mouth.”

And he did - he had a very nimble tongue and it didn’t take much for her to start to impulsively buck her hips impatiently.

He quietly slid his hand between her thighs and she laughed quietly, feeling his fingers caress her gently over the fabric.

“Are you _teasing_ me?”

“No.” he muttered with his lips back on her neck and his other hand on her chest. “I’m just making sure you’re having fun.”

He was _definitely_ teasing, she decided as he massaged her lightly; and she’d tell him to cut it out - if it wasn’t for his touch being so damn distracting. With every touch, she found herself impatiently waiting for more; and every time she was almost frustrated when he didn’t do anything besides those light brushes.

“That’s enough.” she eventually muttered feverishly, putting her hand on his, guiding his fingers towards the hem of her undies. “Pull them down.”

And he did; and she looked at him with her eyes half closed, spreading her legs slightly.

“Kiss me.” she said finally, lightly tapping the inside of her right thigh with her fingertips. “Come on. Kiss me.”

He kissed her lightly, slowly, obediently; he kissed the insides of her thighs, and the skin just outside her entrance, and the skin just above her clit.

She laughed between quiet, breathy moans; suddenly she was conflicted. Suddenly she felt like giving in.

(Suddenly she wanted to put his clever mouth to a good use.)

And he kept on teasing when his lips returned to her chest, and his fingers found her warmth; he was deliberate and slow with how his thumb circled her clit so slowly and lightly it felt like a brush of a feather.

She was on the verge of snapping and telling him to hurry the fuck up or she’ll flush his key down in the toilet when his phone rang.

“Oh, _shit_!” he said, hastily getting up. “I forgot. I promised a friend to get a drink with him tonight.”

She watched him in disbelief as he dressed up quickly, completely ignoring her and her throbbing, pulsing-

“You’re unbelievable.” she finally said; and he laughed. “Really? _Really_?!”

“I’m scatterbrained!” he said defensively. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Oh, you _will_.” she muttered. “You most absolutely will. You’re _so_ going to pay for this.”

“Admit it though. I’m better than wine at making you feel good.”

She threw a pillow at him.

“At least wash your hands before leaving, you prick.”

“Oh! Oh. Right. _That’d_ be awkward. _Oswald, what is wrong with your hand? Oh, I’m sorry, Theo! I was just fingering my assistant._ ”

She threw her last pillow at him, her cheeks flushed; but she wasn’t angry.

Frustrated, yes - but not angry.

After he left, she considered finishing what he started; but she didn’t. She lightly grazed her abdomen and her mound with her fingertips - but she didn’t move them any further.

She decided to cool down; and to save her revenge for another night.

She fell asleep wearing nothing, but his key on her neck.

 


	4. iv

“Morning, miss Spencer.” he said over breakfast. “Slept well?”

“I tossed and turned for a couple hours.” she said, looking at the breakfast menu. “Not sure why.”

“The moon, perhaps?”

“It was probably the moon.” she said, briefly glancing at his hand; he shot her a satisfied grin.

 _He_ looked like he had slept well; relaxed and well-dressed and full of energy.

“I have conceived a cunning plan.” he said, leaning in towards her. “Are you listening?”

“I’m _hungry_.” she said, putting the menu down and yawning quietly. “Why do they give out menus if it’s a breakfast _buffet_ anyway?”

“So people can first sit down and think what do they want without getting involved in awkward interactions as they’re choosing between sunny side ups and omelettes.” he said, getting up. “What do you want?”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way ‘round? You sitting while I bring you whatever you want?”

“You didn’t sleep well. My halo won’t get tarnished by acting decent. So, once again… What do you want?”

“Anything you think I might like.” she said, deciding to not make anything easy for him. “Go wild.”

He sighed and walked up to the buffet, picking up a tray and some platters; and he looked kind of out of place, picking out food and chatting with other people. He was too tall, and his clothes were too nice; and she listened to him complain loudly about the quality of food, eliciting some giggles and chuckles from other people around the buffet.

He returned with a tray loaded with a mountain of food.

“And who’s going to _eat_ this stuff?”

“I am.” he said, already picking a piece of bacon up. “I have crazy metabolism. Also this food is _awful_. I’m going to make a reservation at Lafontaine’s and order everything, just to clean my palate.”

“Sure.” she said with amusement, watching him shovel hash browns into his mouth. “You mentioned having a plan.”

“Ah, so you _were_ listening.”

“Of course I was listening, you’re impossible to tune out.” she muttered; and he grinned with satisfaction.

“My thing’s tomorrow morning, right? So I thought… Let’s make some new friends today. Make sure I don’t talk to an empty room. And then, once I’m done… Let’s sneak out and go sightseeing.”

“How deceitful, I love it. Just as long as… There are no drinks involved.”

“I _know_.” he said apologetically; though the spark in his eye ruined the illusion of remorse. “I already put a reminder on my homescreen.”

He showed her his phone; his homescreen background was a generic landmark photo.

“You should use something nicer as your wallpaper.”

“I’m getting around to changing it.” he said evasively. “What, have something I could use?”

“Maybe so. But first let’s make sure your thing goes good. You _did_ come prepared, right?”

“Of course I did. I always write my own presentations.” he said, rolling his eyes. “Which, apparently, is unheard of among my people.”

“Lots of things you do are probably unheard of.” she said; and he froze. “...I was talking about _this_.” she added, nudging the key with her fingertip. “Got any other dirty secrets?”

“Too many to list.” he said lightly, stirring his coffee. “These days I can barely keep track of who knows what about me.”

“So maybe give me a list. I’ll keep track of your dirty secrets for you.”

“And use them _against_ me, I presume.” he said with a smile, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing instantly. “Oh _Jesus_.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own drink; to her it tasted fine.

“Your palate’s oversensitive.”

“Years of only eating he finest foods do that to a person.”

She rolled her eyes again.

She mostly followed him around that day, tuning the majority of sounds out; she really, truly, genuinely did not care. He also didn’t seem to be invested, considering how many times exactly she caught him yawning discreetly.

“Why are we even here if you’re so _bored_?”

“Because I need other people to keep my gallery afloat.” he muttered in response. “Believe it or not, but being closely connected to Wayne Enterprises is _not_ enough.”

“Stop yawning.”

“Or what?”

“Mister Cobblepot, we’re in _public_!” she whispered and he snickered.

Later in the elevator his hand was on her thigh - and she almost melted again, as he lightly grazed her skin with his fingertips; it was careful and quick, since they weren’t alone.

(The fact no one would probably mind even if they _did_ notice was nauseating, and she pushed that thought away.)

“I’ll meet you in an hour.” he said to her, looking at his phone and typing something. “Don’t be late.”

“I’m _never_ late, mister Cobblepot.”

Her phone buzzed.

 

**I could really use a new wallpaper, you know.  
** _i’m aware. :p  
_ **Am I in trouble for the elevator thing?  
** _yes._   
**Oh. Good.**

 

Taking nice photos was kinda difficult alone, since she only had one pair of two not very long arms; but eventually she managed. She took a shot of her body from the lips down; she never sent pictures of her face to people she was after. They could only see her face in person; they had to keep meeting her if they wanted to see her smile.

**Do you own a single bra that is not see-through?  
** _i own some shelf ones.  
_ **...what?  
** _be nice to me and you’ll find out.  
_ **I googled it. Those seem so… Pointless.  
** _but they make tits look nice!_   
**You don’t need a fancy bra for that.**

 

She hid her face in her hands, her cheeks weirdly red.

***

“Don’t get dessert.” she told him over dinner.

“I wasn’t going to.” he replied, checking something on his phone. “The selection’s d… _Oooh_.”

She rested her chin against the ball of her hand, looking him in the eye; under the table she gently nudged his knee with her foot.

“Just don’t make me stay up the whole night.” he said, looking at his penne alla vodka critically. “I need to be in good shape tomorrow morning… And I’d rather _not_ drink the coffee.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your beauty sleep. God knows you _need_ it.” she added; and he shot her a hurt look.

“Are you saying I’m ugly?” he asked in a tone so sad she could swear he’s about to play some fitting violin music.

People walking behind him stopped for a moment and shot them puzzled looks, before resuming their own conversation.

“We’re in _public_.” she said quietly.

He pouted; but didn’t say anything.

(His face was nice to look at.)

Two hours after the dinner she put on a bathrobe she brought with her, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, reaching for her makeup bag. For a moment she glanced at a blue _something_ she put down on the sink; and she laughed quietly.

It wasn’t uncommon for the men she was after to give her gifts; it was actually _very_ common, especially when it came to jewelry. She usually sold the trinkets after disappearing - except for the _really_ pretty ones, and except for those no one would ever buy from her.

Once a man she was wooing bought her a set of _interesting_ trinkets - a bunch of little somethings that didn’t go on one’s neck or fingers. No, those things were meant to adorn - and tease - one’s genitals; and there was no _way_ anyone would buy them back from her, mostly because they were used - not too often, but it happened from time to time.

And Charlie had spent the bigger part of that day wearing one of those trinkets; a scarab crafted out of silver and blue onyx. It pressed against her clit lightly during the day - more lightly than a happy knot ever would, just enough to tease her lightly, not enough to frustrate.

At least - usually. But last night, Oswald had left in haste before getting her off - and a night of sleep wasn’t enough for the built-up tension to go away.

She placed a note on the mirror, reminding herself to wash the scarab once she gets back; she then styled her hair a bit, and put her makeup on - and left the room, checking the hallway beforehand.

(It was empty. Good.)

She knocked at Oswald’s door a couple times before he opened; he was talking to someone over the phone, and at first - he didn’t register what is he looking at.

She untied her robe without a word; she was completely naked underneath, and he gulped.

“Bruce, I’ll call you back.” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “I don’t know, probably tomorrow.”

He hung up and put the phone away; and she smiled, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him.

“At least come inside.” he said, taking a step back. “Before someone sees you.”

He closed the door behind her; and she pushed him against it, kissing him again.

“God.” he muttered as she bit his neck lightly, her fingers quickly dealing with the buttons of his shirt. “How can someone as _short_ as you be so _bossy_?”

“You’re about to be under me.” she said; and he smiled. She liked the way he looked down at her, with his head tilted back a bit, as if _he_ was the one in control.

“Am I now?” he asked as she stepped back from him and his half-unbuttoned shirt; she laughed and pulled him closer, switching places with him.

She pushed him towards the bed; eventually he tripped and fell over and she climbed atop of him, sitting on his chest with her legs spread apart.

“Keep your hands to yourself.” she said, moving up a bit. “Or I’ll tie you up.”

She knelt on the bed, with his head between her thighs; and she lowered herself onto him, her face red.

(For some reason spreading her legs, exposing herself - it always made her feel ashamed.)

Soon her thoughts were blurry and her tongue was heavy; his tongue was nimble and she breathed heavily, gripping the bed’s headboard so tightly her skin turned white.

“Hurry _up_.” she breathed out shakily; and his tongue slowed down and she could feel his fingers creeping up her sides.

She realized that if he wanted - he could probably overpower her easily. He was taller, and seemed to be in a good condition, and apparently - judging from his peculiar scars - had some experience; all while she relied on being relatively small and wearing heels most of the time.

He could - but he didn’t, even though the thought of him taking control, holding her hands above her head and toying with her with his other hand - was _exciting_.

Her thoughts were overflowing and confusing as she came, covering her mouth with her hand - she liked having him wrapped around his finger, but at the same time wouldn’t mind a role reversal, she liked hearing him say _please_ , but she wouldn’t mind saying the same to him.

“You were _teasing_ me again.” she said eventually, after catching her breath; she moved back to his chest. “And I told you to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Do I repulse you?” he asked; and she froze, furrowing her brows.

“No.” she said finally; but his fingertips on her skin were making her feel vulnerable and soft, because he touched her so gently. “But I know you _like_ to touch me. And darling… It’s fun, having you _let_ me take the things you like away from your, with your permission no less.”

“So in theory you wouldn’t _mind_ my hands on you.” he said as she pulled the belt out of her robe and was tying his hands to the wooden bars of the headboard. “So if we were in the elevator, and it stopped, and we were alone…”

“I probably wouldn’t mind. You don’t repulse me, Oswald. In fact… You have quite the opposite effect on me.”

It rolled off her tongue as easily as the truth; hell, maybe it _was_ the truth. For hire or not, liar or not - she was still _human_. She still had her preferences and wants and needs; and he didn’t repulse her. Not in the slightest.

“Ha.” he said triumphantly. “I kne _what are you doing_.”

“What do you _think_ I’m doing?” she asked, pulling his pants down. “I told you you’re going to pay for yesterday.”

And he did - she made him pay with her fingertips and a brush she fished out of the pocket of her robe. Oh, he sang the most sincere apologies to her - but it wasn’t enough. He had to _learn_.

She sat atop of him, with her legs spread, and her fingertips between her thighs, and she laughed in his face, and all he could do was to watch helplessly, as she did what he ran away from, over and over again.

“I bet you’d love for us to switch places.” she said quietly. “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you prefer _me_ to be the one tied up?”

“No.” he said; and she laughed, knowing damn well he’s lying. She could see it in his eyes - that spark that lit up at the mention of that concept.

“Did you _have_ to lie to me?” she asked in a sweet voice. “Oh, well. Looks like you need some more time to learn.”

“ _Yes_!” he said desperately, and she laughed again. “Yes, I’d like to have _you_ tied up!”

“Also a wrong answer.” she said; and he sighed. “You’re the designated loser here.”

He sighed again when some time later she put the metal contraption back on him, before untying his hands.

“You’re a sadist. I hope you’re aware.”

“I am _very_ well aware. Do try to hold your tongue though. I might take pity on you eventually.”

“Take your time with me, you devil.” he said, stretching. “I’m very patient for someone so _spoiled_ and _entitled_.”

“Oswald-”

“I’m merely stating the facts.” he said lightly. “Also I think I’m going to take a nice, ice cold shower now. You know. Since you’re still mostly naked.”

“Aww, are my tits _that_ nice to look at?” she asked, arching her back a bit, pushing them forward.

“Mmmhm.” he nodded, staring. “As well as your pretty face, and your hands, and your legs… Oh, and not to mention what’s _between_ your legs. So sweet. So soft. So… _Sensitive._ ”

She threw a pillow at him; he shrugged when it him him in the face.

“I deserved that.” he admitted, handing it back to her. “Maybe I got drunk on-”

She threw the same pillow at him again. He handed it back to her again, before finally disappearing in the bathroom.

And in the meantime - she fell asleep in his hotel bed. She was physically tired; and those beds were just too damn comfortable.

***

She woke up well rested and _incredibly_ hungry; and he was sitting in a nearby chair, writing something on his laptop. He was fully dressed, and his hair looked impeccable; he smiled and closed his computer after noticing she’s awake.

“Morning.” he said. “Even though technically… It’s almost noon.”

“What?” she asked, yawning; and then she realized. “Oh, fuck. Your thing.”

“It was _impossible_ to get you to wake up.” he said with a shrug. “But, to be honest, I didn’t try _too_ hard.”

“Sorry.” she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“No worries. You wouldn’t learn anything new anyway, from me talking about the actual _dangers_ of owning an art gallery.” he said in serious voice. “About sudden burglaries and dashing thieves who steal your heart along with your art. Hungry?” he added, gesturing towards a covered tray on a nearby table. “I used my lethal puppy eyes on the hotel staff to let me take some food back to the room for my _friend_. Though that was a couple hours ago. It’s probably cold and gross by now.”

“So… You’re not mad about me sleeping through your thing?”

“Angry? No.” he said, bringing her the tray. “If anything, I’m _jealous_. I kept looking at you, fast asleep, and all I could think was _god, I wish that was me_. You can accompany me for the rest of the day, if you want to make up for it though.” he added as she nudged the cold scrambled eggs with a fork. “I made a list of good food places in New York.”

“Oh?” she asked, already knowing where exactly does he want to go; she had spent the majority of her life in New York, and her parents had an affinity for good food. She used to know all the places worth knowing, all the hot dogs worth eating; and she could only hope for two things - that she’s no longer remembered in those places, and that familiar flavors won’t trigger another meltdown.

“Yep. So… Maybe skip the late breakfast and go on an adventure with me. My treat.” he added quickly. “A bit of this, a bit of that… We’ll be back just in time for the closing ceremony.”

“You know what? I’m game.” she said; and his face lit up. “I just need to take a shower and get dressed first. Can’t wander around New York in just a bathrobe.”

“I’ll bail you out if you get arrested.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to have _public indecency_ on my record. Who’d hire me with something like that?”

“I would. Without a second thought.”

“Easy there.” she muttered, feeling her cheeks turn red. “You already convinced me to go on an adventure with you. Don’t waste all your charm at once.”

“Oh, but I thought you already know my charm is a bottomless well. Go take that shower now. We’ll meet in… How much time do you need?”

“Twenty.”

“We’ll meet in twenty. Don’t keep me waiting, I’m… Very hungry, actually.”

He didn’t say anything when she showed up ten minutes late, with her hair still a bit wet; she didn’t bother with makeup, and put a simple, short sleeved, slightly flared dress instead of her usual pencil one.

“I barely recognized you without the makeup.” he said; and she scoffed.

“Want me to go back and put it on?” she asked - and he shook his head vehemently.

“Absolutely not. I’m _starving_.”

He didn’t comment on her bare face and her freckles; but he did shooting her puzzled looks from time to time. She knew better than to ask if he likes what he sees; it was obvious that the answer would be _yes_.

(He saw her with makeup smudged to hell and back - and said nothing.)

Much to her surprise - she didn’t know a single _one_ out of all the places he took her to. Or maybe it wasn’t that shocking after all - it’s been some time. Maybe _her_ places disappeared from the world. Or maybe he simply had tastes different than those of her parents.

“I can’t _move_.” she whimpered after their fifth stop. “I’m not going to eat _anything_ ‘till next Friday.”

“Really? I think I’ll go for two more rounds. Or three. Depends on the portion size.”

“I can’t _move_.” she complained when it was time for them to move out. “I feel like I’m about to give birth. To a _bagel_.”

“Do you want me to hold your hand in the labour ward?” he asked solemnly. “I will raise that little thing as my own.”

“I think I might name it _Crispin_.” she said without thinking; _Crispin_ was the name of her father - a faithful, impatient way who wasn’t above using violence when all reason had failed. He was a good man - and she missed him greatly. “You know. Because it was _crispy_..?”

“I want a divorce.” Oswald said after a long pause - and she laughed and then groaned, because laughing hurt her stuffed stomach.

But it felt good, being out and casual with him; it almost felt like she was being genuine with him.

But she wasn’t - and she could feel a tight lump in her throat when he stole a kiss from her over froyo.

***

On Monday, he didn’t mention anything that happened between them over the weekend; but he did thank her for her _invaluable assistance_.

On Tuesday they got stuck in an elevator.

***

Oswald was a Wayne Enterprises board member; it was mostly a honorary title that didn’t come with much - if any at all - duties and obligations, but he was still expected to show up for board meetings every now and then.

“Once every six months.” he announced cheerfully. “Just enough to make sure the other board members don’t forget what I look like.”

“And what _exactly_ are you doing during those meetings?”

“Mostly playing _Mystic Messenger_.” he said, and she snorted. “I like setting my protagonist up with Jumin.”

“I only have a vague idea about this game.” she admitted; and in response he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t play it.” he said in a pained voice, looking her in the eye. “Don’t make my mistake.”

She nodded without saying anything; somehow the idea of him playing a dating sim in the middle of a board meeting was… Quite endearing, actually. She decided to not overanalyze the topic and to not look for similarities between him and his favorite character; there was no point to it anyway. It wouldn’t bring her anything new - and Victoria gave her everything she needed to know anyway.

So - they got stuck in an elevator that day, in the Wayne Tower. It got stuck between the floors; and they were the only people inside.

“Oh, how _terrible_.” she sighed. “Are those elevators monitored?”

“Considering the power went off… Not anymore.”

“...how do you know?”

“Lots and lots of dirty secrets.” he reminded her. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can even get _handsy_.” she whispered, her arms already around his neck. “Just… Don’t rip my clothes.”

He didn’t rip anything as they were kissing in the dark; she liked the way his hands felt on her body, and she liked the way he kissed her neck, and the way his fingers crept up her thighs.

“Do you _always_ wear stockings?” he asked as her fingers were in his hair.

“I look good in garter belts.”

“Mmm. Yes.” he agreed; he was massaging her lightly through the fabric of her undies. “Yes, you do. But then again… You look good in about _everything_.”

“Let me guess.” she breathed out as he cupped her breast with his other hand. “I look best in _nothing_?”

“Your words, not mine.” he said; and in that moment - the power came back on and he stepped away from her with a wide grin on his face.

“Are you free this weekend?” she asked, quickly fixing her blouse; he glanced at her, fixing his own tie.

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I _am_ free. So… Now’s the moment when you ask me to come over for dinner.”

“Would the madam like to come over for dinner?” he asked with a theatrical bow, and she giggled. “I shall prepare… Hm. What _exactly_ do you want to eat?”

“Anything, as long as it’s made by _you_.” she said without thinking; and he looked at her with his eyes wide open.

“I’ll do my best.” he said eventually. “So… I’ll send someone to pick you up around…”

“Six. On Saturday.”

“Yes, then.”

Bruce Wayne himself was waiting for them as they left the elevator on the top floor of the tower; he seemed to be concerned.

“This is weird.” he said, hugging Oswald briefly. “I… I guess I’ll send Lucius out to check the systems. Those elevators were supposed to be-”

He looked at Charlie over Oswald’s shoulder; and there was a spark of recognition in his eyes, after he furrowed his brows, clearly trying to figure out where does he remember her from.

“For Christ’s sake, Oz.” he eventually said tiredly. “Are you dating your _assistant_?”

“No.” Oswald said.

“Yes.” Charlie said in the same moment.

“Oh.” Bruce said after a long pause. “That’s… Awkward.”

For some reason - that hurt. Actually, genuinely _hurt_. Rationally she knew it’s nothing, but emotionally - that short word hurt her quite a bit, that short sound, that came out of his mouth so quickly, so easily, that denial of there being anything meaningful between them.

“What?” she asked, blinking a few times. “I’m sorry, I spaced out a bit… And from those expressions - I take it you _didn’t_ ask us if we want something to drink.”

She shot both of them her best apologetic smile; and when Wayne turned around, and Oswald put his hand on her shoulder - she looked at it as if she dropped a dead rat on her, even though his hands were beautiful, and tender, and gentle.

“Charlie…”

“Yes, mister Cobblepot?” she asked calmly; and he slowly backed out.

She didn’t cry that day. Not during the day, not after returning home. She didn’t cry, even though she wanted to - but she didn’t. Why would she? There was never anything _meaningful_ between them anyway.

But she felt sad anyway; and it was bitter and burning and overwhelming.

But she didn’t cry.

***

He didn’t try to straighten things out with her, and instead acted as if nothing had ever happened between them; and on Saturday, around six, there was a knock on her door.

It was the woman she had already met once, the one that delivered her the phone and the key.

“I’m here to take you for your date.” she said; and Charlie scoffed.

“The date’s cancelled.” she said, crossing her arms. “I thought it’s obvious.”

“I tend to not follow Cobblepot’s private life.” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “It’s boring. Except when it gets exciting. Like… Now.”

“You can ask _him_ for the details.” she said, feeling a lump in her throat; he stated they’re not a thing - just to expect her to meet with him as if nothing had happened. “I’m sure he’ll gladly tell you _his_ version.”

“What about _your_ version though?”

“I don’t even know your _name_.”

“I’m O’Keefe.” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “So what’s your version? What did he _do_?”

“Nothing.” Charlie choked out finally. “And that’s the problem. Please, leave me.”

“Sure.” O’Keefe said after a long pause. “So, no date then. Do you want me to tell him something, or-”

Charlie interrupted her by stuffing Oswald’s key into her hand.

“Give him this. And tell him I’ll see him on Monday.”

“He’s an idiot.” O’Keefe said suddenly, as Charlie was closing the door. “A pureblood moron.”

“Or maybe he’s simply too clever for his own good.”

“Time will tell. Have a good weekend, ma’am.”

She spent rest of the weekend alone, with takeout food and wine; her phone buzzed, alerting her of the fact Oswald Cobblepot had bought himself a piano. Selina texted her, and she texted back, pretending everything’s a-ok; she watched the news. Penguin - Gotham’s more _direct_ vigilante - got in a scuffle with one of his accomplices, the one in a hyena mask; it got out of hand and a small, family-owned Kenyan restaurant went down.

Penguin was an odd one; he seemed to be working with the Batman, and they seemed to be sharing technology and sources and methods - but at the same time, he was a ticking bomb. Batman seemed to prefer working alone - while Penguin surrounded himself with way less competent people who accompanied him from time to time. Batman was menacing; Penguin was menacingly _friendly_. Batman used his fists, and elaborate gadgets - Penguin used his fists as well as guns, elements of surroundings, other people, cars.

And this time - one of his pals got _so_ mad at him they threw a hydrant at him.

No one really _knew_ anything about Penguin’s accomplices; they all concealed their identities well with voice modifying devices and animal masks. The Hyena seemed to be even more of a wildcard, than the Penguin himself - as illustrated by the fact they suddenly decided to beat the everloving _fuck_ out of Penguin. Using an entire restaurant as her weapon of choice.

He probably deserved it.

***

“That was one of my favorite restaurants they wrecked!” Oswald lamented on Monday. “Where am I supposed to buy nyama choma and pilau now?”

“Other Kenyan restaurants.” Charlie said dryly. “You have a meeting in an hour.”

He sighed and looked away, not saying anything. He didn’t look well rested; he was yawning a lot, and let out a pained yelp when he was stretching.

(He then looked at her expectantly; she said nothing.)

Charlie’s heart skipped a beat when the person Oswald was supposed to give an interview showed up; it was Victoria herself.

“Miss Vale.” Oswald greeted her. “Long time no see.”

“You know how it is.” she said nervously. “Gotham’s _full_ of topics. Oh!” she added, noticing Charlie. “And you must be miss Spencer. We… Exchanged emails?”

“Oh. Right.” Charlie said, shaking her hand; she looked _nothing_ like the confident woman who hired her. Miss Vale was just a bit anxious, just a bit shy; but that went away the moment Oswald said he’ll take her in a moment, and that in the meantime she should get some tea.

“You don’t look like two lovebirds.” Vicki Vale said in a light tone, as Charlie was making her some tea. “And clock’s ticking.”

“I know.” Charlie said quietly; she thought about her parents and the man she once loved and the truth, being so close, yet so far. “Don’t worry. I… I’ll manage.”

“Well, I hope so. Otherwise… I’d hate having to resort to more _primitive_ methods to get him on my side.”

Charlie froze for a moment.

“Come on.” Vicki teases with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes; those remained cold and almost empty, and for a brief moment Charlie wondered what exactly happened to turn this woman into a scheming, ruthless wreck. “Ask me what do I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” Vicki said with a wicked grin. “Something _way_ less subtle than a heartbreak. It’d still be nice for his support to be genuine though.”

“Torture and drugs then.” Charlie said calmly; even though her heart was hurting. “Don’t worry. It… Won’t be needed.”

“I hope so.” Vicki said lightly, patting her on the shoulder. “Because you two might not look like lovebirds, but… I like the way he looks at you.”

“Uh-uh.” Charlie muttered; the words felt bitter. Sure, he _looked_ at her - but he didn’t _say_ anything.

(Why was she so upset? He meant nothing to her. Or maybe he did? She didn’t know anymore.)

“Just remember why are you doing this.” Vale said quietly, walking past her. “For the truth. Truth is all that matters.”

It sounded a lot like she was trying to convince herself, rather than anyone else.

***

Her building burned down at the end of the month.

***

At first, nothing pointed towards a disaster; maybe except for the fact people started to move out en-masse. The owner didn’t sell the building to anyone else, no; but the tenants miraculously found other, much better, affordable apartments in other places.

“Whatcha gonna do?” the owner asked with a shrug, rolling his eyes. “Crime wave in Gotham kills people. More and more places are vacant, and cheap. No wonder peeps move out. Why are _you_ still here anyway, miss?”

“Because I’m out of luck, mister Zeus. Everytime I find something good… Someone _else_ buys it.”

“Well, do let me know if you need anything.” Maximilian Zeus said, sounding resigned. “Since, you know. It’s just the two of us left. How’s your piping?”

“In a tip top shape.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Glad to know this old codger’s still keepin’ it together.” he added in a gentler tone. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day, miss.”

“You too, mister Zeus.” she said; she never quite over the fact there was a man named _Maximilian Zeus_ living in Gotham. The name sounded _so_ fake - even more fake than _Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot_.

So, eventually she was the last tenant left - which felt just a bit weird, but bearable. Zeus didn’t even raise her rent; and she was glad, even though with how much Oswald was paying her - she was sure it wouldn’t actually be an issue.

And then the building burned down one night.

She was asleep - when she smelled the unmistakable scent of smoke. At first she sleepily thought _must be John from the other side of the corridor, he burns his meat all the time-_

but then she remembered John had moved out one week ago.

It didn’t take her much time to get out; she grabbed her phone, her wallet and her jewellry box and ran out, stuffing everything into the pockets of her bathrobe. Just the essentials; everything else could perish.

Mister Zeus wasn’t happy; he showed up a couple of minutes later, along with the police and the firefighters; and he yelled at her as she helplessly looked as practically everything she owns is burning.

“That wasn’t _me_!” she said tearfully. “I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“Well you were the only person in the building!” enraged Zeus stated, shaking his fist. “So who _was_ it then, me?! Batman?! Santa Claus?!”

“Accidents happen.” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why would I do this anyway?!”

“Stop yelling, my good man.” someone panted out from behind her; and her heart skipped a beat, because she knew that voice, she knew it well. “Wow, I sound like a victorian noble.”

“What are _you_ doing here?!” she asked tearfully, turning around. “Mister Cobblepot-”

“I’m not here as your boss.” he interrupted her quickly. “I’m here as someone who was pretty fucking worried about you. Are… Are you _alright_?”

“How do you even _know_?” she asked, feeling slightly dizzy; there were no news reporters anywhere to be found, since it wasn’t exactly a great part of the town.

“A little bird told me.” he said; he took her face in his hands and she sighed, letting him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” she said tiredly, looking at him; his hair were a mess, his shirt was partially unbuttoned and his pants and shoes were stained with something. “Y… You’re the one who looks like a mess.”

“What? Oh.” he said, taking a look at himself. “Well, I was asleep when my phone rang. And then I guess… I was _worried_.”

“I lost _everything_.” she finally said helplessly. “Everything. I… I…”

“Those were just _things_. Stuff. _You_ are still here. And that’s all that matters.” he said; and she nodded, on the verge of tears again. “And I’m _sorry_ for what I said, I… I had no clue I actually _mean_ something to you.” he finished, sounding apologetic and helpless; and that pushed her over the edge.

She broke into tears, and they soaked into the fabric of his shirt, as he quietly pulled her closer; he meant nothing to her. Or maybe he did mean something? She didn’t know anymore; but he was there, and he was holding her close as she cried, nearly everything she owned burning not far away, as he tried to assure her she does mean _something_ to him, something good, and important and warm.

“Warm?” she sniffled out, wiping her tears with a handkerchief he handed her. “Seriously?”

“Poor choice of words.” he said, sounding a bit panicked. “ _Very_ poor. My point still stands though.”

“You are _very_ sweet.” she sniffled out. “Can we finish this conversation later though? _Please_?”

“Anytime.” he agreed, still staring at her. “Just… Please. Let me help you.”

She didn’t say anything, and instead placed a light kiss in the corner of his mouth; and he smiled with relief.

The police wanted to take her in for questioning.

“Can’t it wait?” she asked tiredly. “I… I don’t even have anything to wear.”

(Under the bathrobe she hastily put on, she only had a pair of panties on; and except for that - she was only wearing slippers.)

“That won’t be an issue.” a policeman said with a smile that sent cold shivers down her spine; she turned around, looking for Oswald, hoping for him to step in and use his shining reputation.

“Grogan’s not going to like that, DeCarlo.” someone said tiredly. “We talked about this, over and over. Harassing witnesses is not ok. Harassing victims is also not ok. So is harassing suspects. Long story short, harassment’s not ok.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“I’d say you made a lady uncomfortable.” the man said with a shrug; he was stout, had messy hair, looked like he last shaved many nights ago and was wearing probably _the_ ugliest hat Charlie had ever seen. “Detective Bullock, GCPD. Is that man making you uncomfortable?”

“Detective Bullock!” Oswald called out, before Charlie said anything. “My _god_. You’re still on the force?”

“I’m like a cockroach. Hard to kill, _impossible_ to get rid off.” he said with a shrug. “You a witness too?”

“I just got here. I only know what _she_ does.”

“Understandable. But, back to my question. Discomfort.”

“Yes.” Charlie finally choked out. “Yes, he did. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, Grogan’s _so_ not going to like this.” Oswald and Bullock said at the same moment; it was obvious they know each other well. “DeCarlo, you can fuck off now. Miss, I’ll be honest with ya.” Bullock added, looking at her. “I don’t _want_ to be here, so I’ll make it quick. Did you see, or hear, anything, or anyone, unusual recently?”

“...unusual for Gotham, or unusual for a normal city?”

“...so you didn’t.” he muttered, writing something down. “Aight. What happened here?”

“I was asleep.” she said tearfully; she was _tired_ , and her throat felt like lined with sandpaper. “And then I felt smoke, so I woke up. That’s all.”

“Well, if you ask _me_ , that’s all.” he said, putting his notebook into his pocket. “We’ll be now working with the firefighters, so we _will_ find out if you lied. Mister Cobblepot, take her to the ER.”

“I always sound like this when I didn’t get enough sleep.”

“Oh my _god_.” Bullock said tiredly. “Do _whatever_. Just give me your personal details, and don’t leave Gotham for the time being.”

She sent her contact card to his phone, as well as the number of her - fake - id; and since she didn’t need medical attention - Oswald just took her to his place.

“I can pay for a hotel, if you prefer to _not_ stay with me.” he said as they were driving. “The Peak-”

“I don’t _want_ to stay at The Peak.” she interrupted him; The Peak was Gotham’s fanciest, best hotel, one of a kind, and ridiculously expensive. “I want to stay with you.”

“I didn’t know I mean _anything_ to you.” he said quietly after a long pause. “I was mostly fine with it, really. I thought… I thought you want a _no strings attached_ sort of thing. Nothing emotional, just… Just sex.”

“That’s what I wanted at first.” she said; she felt numb. “That’s what I was going for, back when I broke into your gallery and you were in your office and I tied you up. I thought - _hey, this might be fun._ But then… Then I grew attached.”

“You mean quite a lot to me, actually.” he said quietly. “I’m fine with keeping this private, if that’s what you want. We can be each other’s secret.”

“You’re sweet.” she sighed. “Eager to please, a sweet talker, have a good heart… You barely know me though.”

“I know enough.” he said stubbornly. “And I know I’ll still like what’s under the surface.”

“Alright.” she finally said. “But you have to promise me something.”

“I’m all ears.”

They reached the building he lived in; he parked his car in the garage and looked at her attentively.

“Don’t tell me you love me.” she said finally. “Not until you really mean it.”

(She didn’t like being told someone _loves_ her; she heard it a lot, back in the day.)

“Alright.” he said quietly. “Can I at least say I’m _very_ glad you’re in one piece, and that you apparently grew attached to me?”

“You can.”

“I don’t think I’d handle it well if you were hurt.” he said. “Or if you pushed me away completely. I bought myself a piano the day I fucked up. It’s in my living room.”

“I didn’t know you can play.”

“I can’t.” he said sincerely, and she laughed. “But getting sad drunk by the piano feels a bit better than getting sad drunk on a couch.”

“You’re _so_ theatrical, it’s incredible. And, speaking of spending money…”

“Your clothes had burned down. Yes, I’m aware.” he said, helping her get out of the car. “It can be remedied. We can do it online… Or I could take your measurements and send someone out.”

“What I need the most right now is clean underwear.” she sighed, shuffling towards the elevator. “Anything else can wait, but underwear’s… Kinda important.”

“The stores open in a couple hours. And I know a man who owns a lingerie shop. He can keep a secret.”

“Are you implying _you_ want to buy me new underwear?”

“Yes.” he said with a wink, followed by a yawn. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. “ she said softly, entering the elevator. “You’d see it sooner or later anyway. Might as well make you buy it… And wait.”

He took her measurements; and he had to start over a couple times, partially because he was tired, and partially because his hands kept wandering, dropping the measuring tape in the process. She didn’t mind; in fact - she kind of missed the feeling of his hands on her body.

(She missed him, even though she met him practically every day.)

Finally he drank a cup of triple espresso, and left; and she stayed behind. Eventually she fell asleep on the couch - the ridiculously comfortable one from IKEA.

***

Vale emailed her the next day.

 

**I heard what happened.  
** _i’m fine.  
_ **You’re answering a question no one asked. How are things between you and him?  
** _...fine.  
_ **Details.  
** _im @ his place 4 the time being. it’s fine. we’re fine._   
**Oh, “we”? Don’t grow too attached to him.**

 

She didn’t reply; suddenly she was breathing hard, and her thoughts were racing, and her heart was pounding. Suddenly she realized she only has a month left; a month to make him mean his _I love you_ , a month of his company, a month of him and his money and his fingers and his smile.

She decided to make the most out of what little time she had left in Gotham; so when Oswald asked her if she likes what he bought her - she said _yes_. She meant it; he bought her a _lot_ of fancy lace sets, some simple, cotton ones - for _when the bad mood strikes_ , as he put it - and an incomprehensible number of stockings and tights.

“Is there a fetish you’d like to tell me about?”

“My imagination took the better of me.” he said sincerely. “I imagined you in those, and then those, and those, and those…”

“You’re sweet.” she said through a lump in her throat. “And you should probably get some sleep.”

“Absolutely not.” he protested with a deep yawn. “I still need to get you some normal clothes, no?”

“I can lounge around in nothing but lace for now. Come on. Take a nap.”

“But you need _other_ stuff as well.” he complained as she lead him to his bedroom. “Cosmetics, books, meds…”

“Shut up.” she said, pushing him down onto the bed; he fell on his stomach and she sat on his back, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Take a nap.”

“But I’m not _tired_.” he muttered, already half asleep.

He was fast asleep and snoring a couple minutes later; she used his laptop to buy everything she needed online - cash on delivery, in case he _insisted_ \- and sighed deeply, adding a bottle of her perfume to the cart. Her _modified_ bottle perished in the fire; she had to find a chemist with loose morals and money problems, the sooner the better. She had the formula memorized; hell, if the need arose - she could do everything by herself, but she still needed ingredients and equipment. Light mixture of pheromones and drugs is not something that can be cooked in a home lab, with easily available, common ingredients; and she stared at Oswald’s laptop, wondering if maybe, by any chance, she could use it to reach out to some of her contacts via the dark-gray corners of the deep web.

But first - she turned to Selina.

“You’re _alive_.” the burglar said after picking up. “Did I hear that right? Was there really a fire”?

“Yep. Burned to a crip.”

“And you are..?”

“Fine, mostly.” she sighed. “Bad news is, all my stuff is gone. Good news is… Oswald.”

“How _exactly_ is a guy you’re seducing for money the good news?”

“Well, he _is_ filthy rich. And… I think I did it, Sel.” she said, feeling empty. “He bought me more lingerie than I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, kitten.” Selina sighed. “Alright, so you’re alive. That’s good.”

“Actually, I need a favor. My… Perfume. I need a new bottle.” she said quietly, nervously looking over her shoulder. “Do you know someone who might help? I can pay.”

“Going to make Cobblepot pay for his own heartbreak?”

“I have some savings.” Charlie said in a resigned tone. “You know. Secret bank accounts, yadda yadda.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I _think_ there is a weirdo in Gotham who’s _very_ into chemistry. The name’s Scarecrow?”

“Never heard of him.”

“My friend Holly says he often buys ropes from her. Says he’s into some _super_ intense stuff. I’ll talk to him. Take care, kitten. And… Enjoy your life of luxury. Hey, does he have a jacuzzi? I’m going to break in and use it, if yes.”

“Or I could simply invite you over. He already knows I have a friend in Gotham.”

“Kitten, he’s a millionaire. I don’t hang out with _those_. I never know when someone might hire me to rob them. Thanks for the thought though.”

***

He seemed to have no intention of getting rid of her anytime soon; and with growing desperation she found herself more and more fond of him. Seeing him at his most dignified at work, as well as his most pleading, compliant, eager to please after hours - she found herself fond of him.

His hands on her skin were making her melt, and the way he attentively listened made her feel like an actual _person_ , and the way he looked at her in the morning, as they were waking up in his giant bed after a long night on the edge almost made her forget about what was slowly approaching.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

***

His personal life seemed to be centered around Bruce; she sometimes wondered what exactly are they doing on their evenings together as she was alone in Oswald’s luxurious flat, catching up with the news and replying to emails. She didn’t like those lonely evenings - even though she wasn’t going to stop him from spending time with Wayne - because that was when her thoughts wandered towards the inevitable, towards the finale. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine new upcoming new life; high above the streets of some busy city, in luxury, and alone.

She didn’t like it; sometimes she considered cutting all ties with Vicki Vale - but it wasn’t a tempting option. Chances were, she’d be exposed anyway - and get nothing out of it.

She decided to just grit her teeth and power through the remaining time.

***

He dropped the bomb accidentally - it was partially her fault.

They resumed their weird, faux-bdsm thing a couple days after the fire, once she settled down and got her - colossal - orders of clothes and cosmetics and various small things she needed. He confessed that even after she abruptly cut him off, and sent his key back to him - he remained faithful.

“ _Faithful_ isn’t exactly a right word, considering there was no relationship to speak of.” he mused with his head in her lap. “But you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” she said; he sighed.

“Do you really want me to say it out loud?”

“I want to hear you say all manners of things out loud.” she said with her fingers in his hair. “Come on. Go ahead. Say it.”

“I hadn’t slept with anyone since you cut me off.” he said with a pained expression and she laughed. “I hadn’t touched anyone. No one touched _me_.”

“Yourself included?”

“Why the sudden interest in my jerk off habits?”

“Oh, no reason, no reason at all.”

“I’ve been good.” he finally sighed. “Even though my head had been _less_ good.”

“Oh?”

“It was difficult, watching you and knowing… That’s it. I only get to see you prim and proper. No more distractions.”

“Sounds like you had a life of chastity planned for yourself.”

“Not quite, no.” he said, closing his eyes. “First I was planning to maybe… Talk this situation out. If that wouldn’t work… I’d try to move on.”

“And what would you do if there wasn’t a fire?”

“A letter.” he said, not opening his eyes. “Long and elaborate and convoluted. The first draft had ten pages. The second - fifteen.”

“And… What _was_ in that letter?” she asked softly.

“A lot of me calling myself a dense oaf, actually. Lots of stating exactly how pretty you are and how bad your _it was crispy_ joke was, and how I sometimes still laugh at it. You know. The usual.”

“God, you’re a sap.”

He kissed her fingertips without opening his eyes.

Later that week she tied him up with red rope and made him lay down on his back on his bed; it was big and comfortable. She sometimes looked around his - rather plain - bedroom, wondering why _exactly_ he didn’t let her see it the first time she came over; nothing seemed to be unusual or out of place.

Maybe he was telling the truth when he was talking about the room being messy; she smiled lightly at the thought of him being ashamed of his mess.

She tied him up, and he was on his back, and she was sitting next to him.

“We’re going to change the rules a bit.” she said, rubbing her hands together. “I bet you’re _really_ sensitive now, after… _So many_ days of no release.”

“Did you just try to hide the fact you don’t _remember_?”

“Yes.” she said with a shrug. “I’m not the one who should be keeping count. But, anyway. Let’s get back to today.”

“I’m all ears. You have my full, undivided attention.”

“That’s a good spoiled prick. You know how I always make you beg, and then end up stopping _just_ as you’re about to come?”

“Yes.” he said, writhing slightly. “So, what’s the tonight’s twist?”

“No begging.” she said in a sweet tone. “That’s the twist. If you say _please_ , if you beg - there goes your chance.”

“ _Why_ the fuck are you doing this?” he asked as she was pulling his pants off. “Not that I mind. But… You are _cruel_.”

“ _Someone_ needs to put you in your place.” she replied. “Might as well be me. I like watching you squirm. I like _making_ you squirm. I like looking at you during the day, the dignified art gallery owner, and think - _last night this man begged me on his knees to let him come and I only laughed in his face_.”

He didn’t say anything; because she got to work already. All she had burned down - so she bought herself some new, much better, toys; not just brushes. Gotham had a damn good sex shop, recommended to her by Selina; the owner seemed to have access to everything a girl might need, plus some other things.

She actually had to blindfold Oswald to not ruin the surprises; he didn’t seem to appreciate the vibrating ring half as much as she did.

“ _Turn it up_.” he pleaded. “ _Turn it up_. Just a bit. _God_. _Turn it up_.”

“Nope.” she said, turning it down. “How’s _now_?”

She laughed watching him squirm; she loudly mused she might just tie him _to_ the bed the next time.

“Come on, Oswald.” she teased, slowly stroking him with her fingertips. “I’m doing all I can!”

“Oh, _fuck you_.” he groaned. “No offense though.”

His voice was breathy and shaky; and he was covered in sweat.

“I bet you’d _like_ that.” she said playfully. “Wouldn’t you? To _finally_ fuck me.”

(Truth to be told, she’d like it as well, plain and simple.)

He groaned, hitting the pillow with his head.

It took about two hours for him to finally slip; two hours of teasing intense enough to drive him crazy, gentle enough to not be enough.

“Please!” he choked out between curses and groans.

“Oh?” she asked, looking at him. “Come again?”

(She was feeling _sort_ of merciful. She was willing to give him another chance.)

He looked at her, and his eyes were hazy and he looked both resigned and determined at the same time and he was breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

“I love you?” he said, or rather asked; and heavy silence fell and she stared at him in disbelief as he slowly realized. “ _Oh_. Uh. Well.”

That didn’t feel good, not at all; she didn’t want him to say it, ever. She wanted him to say it, as soon as possible. She never wanted to hear it, and instead live the rest of her life under an illusion there was no heartbreak, since there was no love. She wanted to hear it a lot of times, since she was almost genuine for the past weeks, almost herself.

“That’s not how I imagined this to go.” he said eventually, laughing nervously. “I was thinking about a candlelit dinner, some roses, some classy music in the background…”

“And what you got is you with your dick out, blue balls, and rope burns on your forearms.” she sighed, smiling afterwards, her heart breaking. “Seems like _nothing_ can go right with us.”

“Charlie…”

“You said that in the heat of the moment.” she said, looking away. “I told you, don’t say _I love you_ until you mean it.”

“ _Why_ are you so against me saying it?” he asked, sounding resigned; and she snorted quietly, muffling a bitter chuckle.

“It’s a long story.” she said evasively. “I might tell you one day. As for _now_ though…”

The topic was nipped in the bud; and as she shoved his head between her thighs she felt first surges of panic. That was exactly what she needed; that was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

She could swear he drew a heart with the tip of his tongue on her clit; and she almost laughed, before almost choking on her repressed tears.

They didn’t talk about his confession afterwards; the next day she texted Selina, and only Selina.

 

_he told me he loves me.  
_ **Well? That’s good, right? e.e  
** _idk anymore lmao_   
**Oh, kitten.**

 

She didn’t text back. Selina didn’t call her.

She still had about three weeks left.

 


	5. v

Vicki didn’t contact her for the next three weeks; and Charlie hoped it’ll all turn out to be a lie, an elaborate, overly complicated plan to find Oswald Cobblepot a partner, that there will be no reveal, no heartbreak.

She started to take sleeping pills in secret in order to sleep through the night without waking up; she had to force herself to eat. She didn’t feel well.

Oswald didn’t notice; or maybe he did, because he started to hug her more often, and she both loved and despised being in his arms, she both loved and despised his lips on her skin, she loved and despised when he cooked for her and when he placed loud, wet kisses between her shoulder blades to wake her up.

She learned to hide it better after the first week; after that first week she was back to being herself, and she played that role so well she almost tricked herself.

***

Seven days before the bomb dropped they accidentally convinced Bruce Wayne there’s something serious between them. Not that he asked, or even _care_ \- he simply walked into the room at the wrong moment.

Or the right one, if he was into voyeurism. He probably wasn’t though.

***

It was a slow day; Oswald had no meetings, and no one except for them entered the building that day. He was reading something on his laptop; and she desperately needed a distraction.

“Wanna see something cool?” she asked him, entering the room.

“Always.” he replied; and he only looked up as she slid onto his lap.

“Keep your hands to yourself.” she warned him; he looked exceptionally good that day, in the dim light coming from the heavily clouded sky.

(His eyes were on the key she was wearing on her neck again.)

“Remember what I told you about those fancy, useless bras?” she asked, unbuttoning her blouse; she was wearing a simple, black lace shelf bra. It wasn’t exactly _the_ most comfortable thing; but it make her breasts look pretty damn good.

Judging from his expression - he agreed.

“Aren’t they pretty?” she asked, swaying her chest slightly; his eyes followed.

“ _Very_.” he said before looking slightly to the right.

His desk was big and L-shaped; and the shorter side was empty, except for some loose papers and some pencils.

She sat on the dark surface, giggling like a schoolgirl; and moments later he was kissing her neck hungrily, and his lips were creeping down slowly, and she almost regretted telling him to keep his hands to himself as he rested his hands next to her, because she could feel the warm tension building up inside of her-

Suddenly there was loud slurping coming from the door - and when they looked in that direction (Oswald with surprise, Charlie hastily covering herself) Bruce Wayne was standing there, slurping coffee from a paper cup with a tired expression.

“Good morning.” he said, not looking at her.

“Morning, mister Wayne.” she said, buttoning her blouse back up.

“Hey, Bruce.” Oswald said, slicking his hair back.

“Doesn’t seem like _not dating_ to me.” Wayne stated, walking up to Oswald and throwing something in his direction. “Here.”

He paused for a moment, finally looking at Charlie.

“You should come with him to dinner one day.” he stated, looking back at Oswald. “Bring her to dinner one day.”

And just like that - he was gone.

“Well.” Oswald muttered. “That was… Something.”

“Is he… _Always_ like that?”

“He’s under a lot of stress. Once it passes, he’ll be all smiles and sunshines again.” Oswald said, waving his hand. “For now, please enjoy the ultra rare _grim Bruce Wayne of bad luck and heartbreak._ Send it to seven people, or… Something something bad luck something.”

He looked at her nervously, and she laughed, and it was genuine; and later she nearly threw up in the bathroom, because the anxiety caught up to her.

***

Finally the bomb had dropped; she knew it was going to happen. She had mentally marked the date in a calendar; but just because you know something is going to happen - doesn’t make it any less painful. It applies to getting your eyebrow pierced, to watching a soccer ball fly right into your face at high speed, to having a tooth removed with no anesthesia - and to heartbreak.

Oswald’s phone rang in the morning.

“Yellow?” he asked over breakfast. “Oh _goodness_. Sofia?!”

Charlie only raised her eyebrows over her cup of coffee.

“Wait, wait, lemme see.” he said, before turning his attention to her. “Do I have anything important planned for today?”

“Nope.” Charlie said, feeling a lump in her throat; Oswald grinned with satisfaction.

“Splendid. Sofia, I can see you whenever you please.” he said to whoever he was talking to. “Just say a word and I’ll crawl to you. It’s been what, a decade?”

She didn’t ask him who was he talking to. She didn’t care.

It was Sunday; the gallery was always closed on Sundays, and he always had a day off from being a semi-public person.

He left for his sudden meeting with Sofia shortly after breakfast - and she packed up her bags. She had a gut feeling this is it; that once he comes back - all hell will break loose.

She waited for a couple hours. Her phone didn’t ring or buzz. She was both calm and absolutely consumed with panic and bitter, bitter awareness of her situation. She didn’t cry, even though her eyes were burning.

She started to fall for him; a classic twist, and oh so poetic as well. Her last broken heart - her own, nevertheless.

Finally he came home; and it only took her a one look at his face and she knew.

“I know who you are.” he said quietly, not looking at her. “You… You…”

She didn’t say anything.

“I _hate_ you.” he said, finally looking at her. “I know Falcone hired you.”

She wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t Falcone - but maybe it _was_ Carmine Falcone after all. Maybe Vicki Vale was an agent of his.

The details didn’t matter; the big picture did.

***

The last email from Vale ended with _good job_.

It felt more like a mockery, than a compliment.

***

The address Victoria gave her wasn’t even correct; the place was vacant, with no puppy-eyed, curly-haired charmer anywhere to be seen.

Charlie spent the next days asking questions, searching, trying to reach out to Vale - to no avail. No one knew anything, no one cared; and soon she ran out of money, with just enough cash for a couple bottles of wine.

She blacked out after the second one, somewhere in Australia, far away from everything and everyone she had known or loved; she learned pink wine doesn’t pair well with tears.

***

She woke up with a colossal headache; she was feeling filthy and sweaty, but at least the bed she was in was comfortable _the beds in the hotel she was staying in were uncomfortable and narrow and she woke up in an unfamiliar bed-_

“Don’t panic.” someone said as her breath quickened. “Don’t panic.”

She wasn’t listen, too busy touching the skin on her thighs with her shaking hands; but nothing hurt. There was no blood anywhere to be seen, no discomfort; and her clothes weren’t torn.

“You’re not hurt.” the voice said; she looked around, looking for its source.

At first she didn’t notice the man dressed in black, standing in a dark corner of the - almost luxurious - room; she only saw him once he stepped out of the shadows, and her eyes slowly focused on the dark, armored bodysuit constructed for agility and speed and a - slightly impractical, but absolutely unmistakeable - mask shaped after a bird skull.

“What?” she finally asked, her voice shaky. “What?”

“A good question to ask.” Penguin admitted. “Let’s take care of that hangover first. What’s your poison?”

“A… A prairie oyster.” she muttered; he scoffed.

“ _Ugh._ ” he said with disgust. “Alright, it can be done. You should… Probably eat something as well.”

“What?” she asked again; he scoffed again.

“I’m sure you’ve got more questions than you can count.” Penguin said, walking towards the nearby door. “Those can wait a bit. First… Let’s get rid of this hangover.”

She wanted to ask _what_ a couple more times - but remained silent, instead watching him open the door and say something to a person waiting outside. They were talking too quietly; but the other voice sounded vaguely familiar.

“Here’s how it’s gonna be.” Penguin said, closing the door and turning around. “First you’re going to drink that disgusting concoction you call _a cure for hangover_. Then you’re going to take a shower, because… I can smell you even through my gas mask. Then you’re going to eat something. And _then_ you’re going to ask questions to your heart’s content.”

“W-”

“Hangover cure.” Penguin interrupted her calmly. “Breakfast. Shower. Questions. In this - slightly negotiable - order.”

“Fine.” she said in a resigned tone, trying to decide which question is she going to ask first. “Hangover, shower, _then_ breakfast.”

“Ah, you’re a quick learner. It’s a deal.” he said with a nod.

A couple of minutes later someone knocked at the door; Penguin opened, taking something from a person outside.

“Cheers, mate.” he said with a nod, before briefly turning around to face Charlie. “Breakfast. What do you want?”

“W… Waffles.” she said hesitantly, still trying to wrap her head around what the hell was going on. “Orange juice. Bacon?”

“So do you want that bacon, or not?”

“I don’t care.” she said with resignation; he turned around again.

“And _bring_ that bacon.” she heard him say before he closed the door; finally he handed her a glass and waited for her to swallow its - absolutely disgusting - contents.

She was starting to feel _just_ a bit better; at least physically. Mentally she was still confused, resigned, overwhelmingly sad.

When she left the bathroom - wearing a fluffy bathrobe that reminded her of the one that burned down along with her Gotham flat - food was waiting for her, and she ate without a word. She was tempted to ask Penguin if he wants some of her bacon - but he’d probably scold her for asking questions anyway, so she remained silent.

Finally she pushed the empty plate away, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“I’m finished.” she said. “Now’s the time for questions.”

“Ask away then.”

“Where _am_ I?”

“Melbourne, Australia.” Penguin said calmly. “You’re far away from Gotham, miss Schiller-Aberdeen.”

Her heart dropped; it’s been _so_ long since someone used her actual name. It’s been _so_ long since _she_ used it.

“I was sent here by our mutual friend.” Penguin continued, as if he didn’t notice her shocked expression. “Can you guess who might that be?”

“Vicki Vale?” she asked hesitantly; and Penguin laughed.

“Oh, miss Vale is no friend of mine.” he finally said. “Even though she _so_ badly wanted to believe otherwise. She might be _your_ friend though. After all… You helped her stir quite a storm.”

“What?” Charlie asked faintly. “I… I have no idea…”

“Ah. Figures.” Penguin sighed. “Well, hold on just a moment.”

He walked up to the door again.

“Digger, the papers.”

“Hold on.” someone said grumpily. “Also, would it _kill_ you to say _please_ , mate?”

“No.” Penguin said, letting someone else into the room; a rather tall, rugged men in a dirty coat. He was carrying a large piece of paper; and he looked…

“I know you.” Charlie said, squinting slightly. “Right? We’ve met.”

“Oh, so you don’t even _remember_ me.” the man said, rolling his eyes. “Well ain’t that fuckin’ glorious. So much effort - for _nothin’_.”

She looked at him for a while longer, remembering something.

***

_She was drunk in a bar when someone sat at the other side of the table._

“ _Oh, shit!” she giggled. “You look like my ex, y’know?”_

“ _Oh do I know?” the man said. “Is it good, or is it bad?”_

“ _He is SO handsome.” she exclaimed mournfully. “You’re not half as hot as he is. S’fine though. If I squint, and the room is dark…”_

“ _What an eager little thing you are.”_

“ _You’d be surprised.” she giggled. “What’s your name, almost handsome stranger?”_

***

“And that’s all I remember.” she admitted. “So… What’s your name again?”

“George.” he sighed, handing Penguin whatever he was holding. “Harkness. Still think I’m almost handsome?”

“If I squint.” she sighed. Now that she was sober, George’s resemblance to Oswald was much less visible. “Sorry.”

“It’s a dog’s life. I’ll be outside.” he added, turning to Penguin. “Call me if you need me, yadda yadda.”

Once again she was left alone with Penguin, who quietly put a - carefully put together - collage of newspaper clippings in front of her.

“Lots of shit went down in Gotham after you left.” he said with a shrug. “All thanks to Vicki Vale.”

“I don’t understand.” she said helplessly. “I… What does it have to do with me?”

“Do you want a long, detailed version? Or… A brief one.”

“Brief, please.” she muttered; and he scoffed, audibly displeased.

“Well of _course_.” he said grumpily. “Of _course_ I had Ox and Mink put this lovely collage ‘ere together for _nothing_.”

“Sorry for being confused, I guess.”

He sighed. Then he sighed again. Then he finally started talking.

***

_Lots of things had happened in Gotham - and all of it caused by Vicki Vale, a woman with a vendetta, a woman who dug just a bit too deep for her own good. She thought she tricked everyone; and for a moment - she did. She did trick people in Gotham into thinking Bruce Wayne is going down, into thinking Oswald Cobblepot will replace him, into thinking Batman and Penguin entered a war path. She tricked everyone; but above all - she tricked herself._

_She discovered a very ugly truth about Thomas Wayne and the Cobblepots and Carmine Falcone and Hamilton Hill. She exposed said truth._

_She pulled Oswald Cobblepot to her side, with a very simple trick - she hired you. Then she exposed you; and promised him to expose many lies more as well. And he followed; heartbroken, his faith in everyone severely damaged. He turned to her side - and I followed. Faithful as ever._

***

“Wait, you… You work with Oswald?”

“Closely. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Batman and Wayne had been working together since the beginning - even though Wayne’s part is limited to merely turning a blind eye to Batman tapping into his network. Cobblepot… You _could_ say we’re friends. It’s complicated.”

“Is _this_ why you’re here? As his attack dog?”

“I’m _no one’s_ attack dog. I’m here by my own volition. Can I continue?”

He went on without waiting for her to say anything.

***

_But this was bigger than the four of us, divided; way bigger. Soon Hill and his electorate were involved, as well as the Falcone crime family, and Harvey Dent. Things were seemingly getting out of hand, and the scales were tipping in Vale’s favor - except they didn’t._

_She underestimated us, all of us. She made some rookie mistakes back in the phase of planning and gathering resources; she left a trail and we followed. And from that point, it was all just a matter of planning carefully, of moving our pawns across the board to make sure the queen doesn’t notice she’s being surrounded. Me and Batman, we had four pawns in total - Cobblepot. Wayne. Dent. Kyle._

***

“Selina was involved?!”

“Of course she was. It’d be a shame to not get the best american burglar involved - plus we needed something stolen anyway. And she… Was our guy.”

“is… Is she alright? Where is she now?”

“Last time I saw her she was mixed up in a convoluted love foursome. She’s alive and well though. Don’t you know? A cat always lands on its feet… Which is why _everyone_ wants to be a cat.”

“Love foursome?”

“You’d have to ask _her_.” he said with a shrug. “Selina Kyle, Catwoman, Bruce Wayne and Batman all walk into a bar…”

“What about Oswald though?” she asked without thinking.

“ _Oswald_? Not _Cobblepot_?”

“Forget I asked.”

“I was just getting to him, actually.”

***

_Oswald Cobblepot had learned some ugly truths - about his family. About the Waynes. About how it was Martha and Alfred who pushed for adoption; about how close it was for him to get shipped overseas, never to be seen in Gotham again. About where did the entirety of his family’s fortune go._

_About what happened to his mother and his father._

_Lots of ugly truths; but he didn’t learn those alone. After all, Bruce Wayne also had learned something ugly about his idolized parents; so they weren’t alone. They had to cut each other off - but they weren’t alone._

_So, long story short, since that’s what you asked for - we worked together, behind Vicki Vale’s back. No one died. No family fell apart, except for the Vale one._

_And as to why am I here…_

***

“I wonder if you connected the dots.” Penguin said, crossing his arms. “Well. Did you?”

Charlie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get some sense out of this mess. Oswald and Bruce worked with Penguin and Batman, who seemed to have everything about everyone; and she wouldn’t be surprised, if-

“He _knew_.” she finally sighed. “Didn’t he? All along, he knew. _That’s_ why everything kept working out in my favor.”

Penguin nodded; and she sighed again. Surprisingly enough, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

She didn’t want to break his heart; but at the same time, she had hoped he’s genuine.

“Of course.” she finally choked out. “So, if he knew, if he was just playing along… No harm done?”

“That’s not for me to decide. Maybe there _was_ some harm done.” Penguin said, turning his head away from her. “He’s an odd one.”

“So… Is _that_ why you’re here? To catch me up to speed?”

“You’re a loose end.” he said; and she froze. “I’m not here to kill you though. I know this is what the term _loose end_ usually implies, but… Not this time.”

“What _do_ you mean then?” she asked, her heart racing; she wondered if if he decides to attack, she manages to reach for a nearby fork.

“You’re that one pawn that didn’t get _anything_ out of this mess.” he said calmly. “To recount - Cobblepot got the truth about his family, as well as a small chunk of what was stolen from them. Wayne got his opinion of a noble hero, here to atone for his father’s sins. Dent got the mayor’s chair, as well as a _much_ better therapist. Sofia Falcone got the throne, Skyler Hill got satisfaction, Vicki Vale - or Victoria Arkham - got… Some closure, I think. It’s a shame _this_ was the path she chose - but she got closure nevertheless. And you? What did _you_ get?”

“Nothing.” she said; her lips felt numb. “I was promised the chance to get back at a man who made me. Except…”

“What you got was an address to an abandoned place, with no man anywhere to be seen.” Penguin finished calmly. “Funny thing. That’s exactly what Vicki said.”

“Is it?” she asked through a lump in her throat. “Well. Thanks for getting me up to speed. Now… I guess I need to figure out what _now_.”

“That’s more or less why I’m here. I did some digging.” he added, ignoring her surprised expression. “Sofia Falcone and Carmine’s secretary were _very_ helpful. The man who robbed you… Owed a _lot_ of money to a certain Gotham crime lord. More or less the amount _you_ lost. What he stole, was just enough to pay Falcone back - and he was left with _just_ enough to come back home. That part’s of the money gone forever. What he _owed_ , however…”

She could barely comprehend what he was saying.

“Those money can still come back to you.” Penguin finished quietly. “Sofia inherited her father’s brains, Gotham’s new district attorney owes my friend quite a few favors, newly nominated commissioner Gordon is on _great_ terms with both Batman and Bruce… See what I’m going at?”

“I’ve got no money for a plane ticket.” she said bitterly. “I’ve got no money for anything. No idea how am I going to pay for this hotel, by the way. Or… What happened to my stuff. You know. My things.”

“Your suitcases are outside.” Penguin said with a shrug. “Hotel’s paid for. What would you do if you _found_ that man?” he asked suddenly. “The one Vicki promised you for breaking another man’s heart. What do you want to do him?”

“Same thing he did to me, Penguin. Except I’m not going to repeat _his_ mistake. I’m going to make sure there is never another me, at least… At least not because of _him_.”

“Your goal’s very noble in how selfish it actually is.” Penguin said, sounding almost soft. “Humor me for just a while longer. If Vicki kept her end of the bargain, if she gave you the _real_ info… Would it be worth it?”

“Are you trying to force a love confession out of me, Penguin?”

“Maybe.” he said with a shrug. “You don’t succeed as a vigilante without a healthy dose of morbid curiosity. So, heartbreaker… What is it?”

“Is it going to stay just between the two of us?”

“Just between the two of us.” he promised her.

“I think I felt something for him.” she finally said. “I think. Maybe. Probably. I almost felt like an actual person with him. But it doesn’t matter.” she added bitterly. “He was just playing his role, after all. The tables had turned, and the heartbreaker broke her _own_ heart… For _nothing._ ”

She started to cry; he didn’t move.

“I don’t if it was worth it.” she sobbed out. “I don’t know! But I know… I know I was going to one day tell him I didn’t make that chicken. Selina did.” she added. “I have no idea how to cook. I wanted to come clean one day, and maybe… Maybe ask him to teach me a thing or two.”

“He knows.” Penguin said finally. “About the cooking thing, that is. He… Told me. He went to that cooking school that recipe comes from, and he said he didn’t mind, not in the slightest.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“So, just like I said.” he continued in a strangely tense tone. “Ninety percent of your fortune can still be claimed back by you… But you’d have to come back to Gotham. Do things in person. Not repeat the mistakes of the foolish men, who are now imprisoned. No traces left behind.”

“But I-”

“Have no money.” he said, dropping an envelope onto the bed. “I’m aware, yes.”

She picked the envelope up and opened it, pouring its contents out onto the bed.

A wad of cash - _definitely_ enough to pay for a plane ticket - and a piece of paper, with an address written on it.

“Perth.” she muttered, turning it in her fingers. “That’s… What, thirty six hours from Melbourne?”

“More or less. Thirty if your driver has nothing to lose. Forty if he has a family.”

“What _exactly_ are you suggesting?”

“The hotel’s paid in advance, including food. Get back on your feet. Pay your _friend_ in Perth a visit. Go to Gotham.”

She did some quick math in her head.

“I’d be back in Gotham just in time for his _birthday_.” she said in a suspicious tone. “Are you… Playing a matchmaker?”

“Mayhaps.” he said quickly. “Maybe. Perhaps.”

“...why though?”

“Because why _not_?” he asked with a shrug. “Look, I’ve said what I had to say. What you _do_ about it though…”

“I’ll… Think about it.”

“Undoubtedly. See you later.” he said, turning around. “I’ll leave you with your maybe-driver. Digger!”

George Harkness entered the room again.

“Keep her company, Digger.” Penguin said, putting a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Take her to Perth, if she asks. And… Behave yourself.”

“Aye.” Harkness said in a resigned tone. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“You better.” Penguin said in a friendly tone. “Because if you misbehave… Well. Did I tell you what happened to good ol’ Carmine Falcone?”

“He… Went to jail?”

“ _Before_ he went to jail. No? Oh, well. I hope you won’t find out.”

“Penguin!” Charlie called out just as he was about to leave. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, but I told you already.” he said with his hand on the doorknob. “Batman’s tapped into Wayne Tech systems. Tracking you down wasn’t all that complicated.”

And just like that, he left; and Charlie was left with George Harkness, who didn’t seem to be all that happy about that whole situation.

“Why are you so gloom, Digger?”

“S’because Penguin is _nasty._ ” he said. “Nasty! He blackmailed me into getting you out of that bar and into the hotel. And wanna know _how_ he did it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Ever heard of the _Suicide Squad_?” George asked, as if he didn’t hear her. “The Agency runs us. Or, rather, _she_ runs us.”

“She?”

“ _She_.” he said, nodding solemnly. “She does this thing to us, see… She puts something in our heads. So if we misbehave, she hits the button…”

“Shock therapy?”

“Ha!” he said bitterly. “If only. Nah, she blows our brains out. With a press of the button. So, wanna know how did Penguin convince me?”

“He… Stole the button from her?”

“He stole the technology from the Agency.” he said grimly. “Except this time it didn’t go into my head. It went to Digger Junior.”

“Oh!” she said, both impressed and repulsed. “That’s… Hm. Wait. Did he… Take it off?”

“I wouldn’t be ‘ere if he did. No offense. I’m sure you’re a very sweet lass and all, but… I’d rather not hang out with someone Penguin is willing to castrate me for.”

“N… None taken.”

“Now’s wait for him to sell that idea to the bdsm freaks.” he muttered, shaking his head. “Exploding chastity cages. Do you think it’d sell well?”

“I… Look, do we _have_ to have this conversation?”

“So it wouldn’t. Bah. Another dream crushed.”

***

Harkness took her to Perth a couple days later; they drove in his old, battered, rusty truck, only making a couple of stops. She felt that if they linger too much - she might get discouraged. After all, she was driving to Perth to _kill_ someone; she figured it might be best to not think about it too much.

They stopped by the airport on their way to Harry’s place.

“You should get yourself a plane ticket.”

“Did Penguin say he’ll blow your junk off if you don’t convince me to go to Gotham?”

“Yes.” he said in a resigned tone. “ _Please_ don’t make him blow my dick up. Please buy that ticket. _Please_.”

“Did he tell you I like it when men say _please_?”

“Unfortunately, he did not.”

“You’re a funny guy, Digger.” she said, getting out of the car. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He took a picture of her with the ticket.

“Is it _really_ necessary?” she asked, as he send it to the Penguin as a proof. “You _are_ going to delete it, right?”

“No.” he muttered, deleting the photo. “I’m going to keep it forever in my _girls with plane tickets_ secret folder. So, next stop… Your ex?”

“He’s not my ex.” she said with a sigh. “Because we were never _really_ together.”

“You were never _really_ together with that Cobblepot guy.” he pointed out as they were driving through the streets of Perth. “Didn’t stop you from calling him your ex.”

“Mind your own business, Digger.”

“...yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to follow me.” she said after they reached the run-down building where Harry had holed up. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“I’m a sucker for a good show.”

Was it a good show?

She wasn’t so sure; but it sure as hell was bloody. That was her first time taking a life; she had no experience. Some things went wrong. It took more time than she anticipated.

His blood was hotter than she thought it’d be. He whimpered louder than she thought he would.

“Bye, Harry.” she said as life was slowly dripping out of his wounds.

“Isn’t his name _Alexander_ though?” Harkness asked, standing in the doorway.

“Not to me.” she said, still looking at the man on the floor. “To me, he was Harry.”

“Sure.” Harkness said dryly. “You left your fingerprints _everywhere_.”

“So?”

“So go to bathroom, take a shower, change into clean clothes… And I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you.” she said; he didn’t reply, already getting to work; and she realized exactly what kind of person Penguin must be, if _this_ is who he picked to help him with her.

“See something you like?” Harkness asked as she left Harry’s bathroom, her hair still wet. “You can take it. I’m going to burn this place down.”

“You _what_?”

“Your fingerprints are _everywhere_. And fire is _very_ cleansing.”

And that was it; Harry was dead. All traces of her involvement in his demise were gone.

And suddenly she realized; she was no longer a Spencer. Suddenly she thought back to her actual name; and she felt relieved.

She also felt like not that great of a person; but it didn’t matter.

She was no longer a Spencer.

***

“Miss Spencer?”

She was walking through the Archie Goodwin International Airport, dragging her bags behind; and when she turned around - detective Bullock was there, again in a coat and a hat.

“Detective!” she said nervously, remembering the fire. “Uh… Fancy meeting you here?”

“I’m not here to arrest you.” he said, waving his hand. “Penguin sends his regards, by the way.”

“Did _he_ send you here?”

“He did.” Bullock said with a shrug, glancing at her bags. “Told me to take a day off. _There_ you are.” he added, looking at someone over Charlie’s shoulder. “What the hell were you doing?”

“There was a line in the ladies’ room.” a familiar voice said from behind her; it was Oswald’s driver without a license. “So I used men’s. We should probably get out of here.”

“You _do_ realize I’m a cop, right?”

“Whatcha gonna do, arrest me for peeing?” O’Keefe asked, zipping her pants up. “Come on. Let’s go. Hey, Red. Long time no see.”

“What… Is going on?” Charlie asked, feeling _very_ confused.

“We’re here to pick you up.” O’Keefe said, already pushing her towards the exit; Bullock took care of her bags and he didn’t appear to be pleased about it. “It’s Cobblepot’s birthday. So… Penguin’s giving him a gift.”

“This sounds like Oswald’s actually going to kill me.” she said, laughing nervously. “In some gruesome way.”

“He’s a big softie who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” O’Keefe said hastily; there was some commotion going on behind them. “Uh oh. Looks like the guy I punched in the dick crawled out.”

“You did _what?_ ” Bullock panted out. “ _Alice_!”

“Aight, we’re splitting.” she said as they were outside. “Bullock, give me those bags, I’ll take ‘em up. You… Where _is_ he anyway?”

“We’ll figure it out.” Bullock said, stuffing Charlie’s bags into the trunk of O’Keefe’s car. “Off you go, O’Keefe. And try to _not_ blow anything up on your way.”

“You overestimate my destructive tendencies, detective.”

Bullock shot O’Keefe one last tired look, before rolling his eyes and gesturing towards his own - quite battered, but not as much as Digger’s truck - car.

“Get in. Come on, don’t be shy.”

Once they were both inside, he fished out his phone; the device was in an even worse shape than his car.

“Penguin.” Bullock said after pressing a few buttons. “Bullock’s here.”

“I know it’s you, detective. I went to college. I can _read_.” Penguin said tiredly. “What is it?”

“She had landed. Cobblepot’s driver took her bags.”

“...and?”

“Where _is_ Cobblepot now?”

“At his gallery. I’m looking at him right now. He seems… Vexed. I like his outfit of the day though.”

“What is he wearing?” Charlie asked without thinking.

“Ah! Nice to hear you.” Penguin said. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. What’s going to come first - asking for his help with the money, or admitting you actually _did_ care?”

The question came so suddenly, she decided to not overthink the answer.

“I don’t know.” she said sincerely. “It’s either love, or money. If I go with both… It’ll sound like I’m trying to manipulate him into helping me. I’ll decide on the way if I’d rather be rich and alone, or broke, but… With him.”

“You _do_ realize you wouldn’t be broke if you chose him, right?” Penguin said, sounding amused. “He’s a big spender. You wouldn’t even notice.”

“I’ve been enough of a leech already. Do you think he’ll believe me if I get the money back, and then just… _Keep_ talking to him?”

“You’re overthinking. He’s not _that_ complex of a person.”

“Maybe you should consider a career in psychotherapy.” Bullock said tiredly, driving out of the parking lot. “You two finished?”

“For now.” Penguin said after a pause. “See you around, heartbreaker.”

“Is he always like that?” Charlie asked; and Bullock shook his head.

“Morbidly interested in private affairs of Gotham social elite? No. That’s more of a Batman’s thing.”

“So why-”

“Is he so determined to set you up with Cobblepot? No idea.” Bullock said with a shrug. “Maybe he… What’s the term? You know. Two people, usually fictional, a relationship… A verb.”

“What, are you saying Penguin _ships_ me with Cobblepot?”

“Shipping.” Bullock muttered to himself. “Shipping. And maybe. He’s an odd one.”

“Why the sudden interest in fan activities anyway?”

“You’re not a parent. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Aww, your kid’s into this stuff? Nice to see some things never change.”

“My kid’s almost as much of a weirdo as the Penguin.” Bullock said fondly. “And I’m trying to work things out with h- with _them_. You know. Make things right.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it.” she said quietly. “Tell them I said _hi_.”

“I’d rather not. You’re their type, and I… Don’t want to be responsible for Cobblepot’s relationship falling apart.”

“Why? Is he a resentful type?”

“He recently found out a _lot_ of things about his life.” Bullock said with a sigh. “Look, don’t tell anyone I’ve told you this, but… He didn't take it half as good as he claims he did. I’d believe him if it was _one_ thing - but that was… An avalanche. S’too much for one man to take.”

“Is there _anyone_ in Gotham who is _not_ personally invested in Oswald’s well-being?”

“Look, it’s not _my_ fault Penguin found himself a new hobby, and it’s not _my_ fault he miraculously has something on pretty much everyone in Cobblepot’s life. I just want to be able to keep both my job _and_ my junk.”

“Did he threaten to castrate you too?”

“...oh goodie, so I’m not the only one. Well that’s just great.”

They reached the Cobblepot Gallery; and Charlie’s hands were trembling. Just a bit; just enough for Bullock to notice.

“Want me to walk you to the elevator?”

“Yes.” she said instantly. “Please. I think I might pass out. Or run away. Or freeze.”

He sighed, and got out of the car; and she followed. She laughed quietly after realizing that facing Oswald again actually stresses her more than _killing_ a person; but maybe it was because Oswald mattered. With time, Harry stopped meaning anything to her - all that remained was what he _did_ to her, without any trace of actual person.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.”

Tennyson and Schulz barely looked up from their phones.

“Mister Cobblepot’s upstairs.” Schulz said; she could hear the distinct - even if slightly muted - sounds of _Candy Crush_ coming from his phone. “Good luck.”

“Good luck.” Bullock added after they reached the elevator. “That’s it from me. Now you just have to press some buttons… And it’ll be over. For better or worse.”

“Thanks, Paolo Coelho.” she muttered, entering the elevator. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

Oswald was indeed in his office, standing by his desk; he was doing something on his laptop with his back turned to the entrance. He was talking to someone; someone named-

“Look, Fifi, I don’t know.” he said tiredly, typing something. “I’ve tried putting it _everywhere_ , and it just doesn’t work.”

“Between the functions too?” Fifi suggested; Charlie could see a small video chat on Oswald’s screen; the woman he was talking to had brown skin and a curly sidecut. “I dunno, Oz, that code seems perfectly fine to me.”

“And to me as well.” Oswald muttered, still typing. “Maybe I should get Nygma to take a look at it?”

“Oh, _fuck you_. Now you’re just messing with my ambition.” Fifi grumbled. “Alright, big guy, I’ll take a look at it. Just… Don’t get that jerk involved. You have a guest, by the way.”

“A g-”

He turned around; and he looked at Charlie, visibly surprised. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well recently, and his hair were a mess; and he ditched his jacket, instead opting for a shirt with rolled up sleeves.

His tie was nice though. Deep red.

“Tiffany, I’ll call you back.” he said, not taking his eyes off Charlie; Fifi laughed.

“ _Tiffany?_ Am I in-”

Oswald closed his laptop abruptly.

“Hey.” Charlie said, feeling a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth; her lips were tingling and her hands were shaking and her breath was shaky. “And… Sorry.” she added. “For…”

“I know.” Oswald interrupted her. “I knew all along. Doesn’t mean… The truth was any less painful.”

“I know.” she said quietly. “Penguin had told me. He told me… A lot of things, actually.”

“Of course he did.” Oswald sighed; he gestured towards a nearby chair. “Please, take a seat. Let’s talk like adults.”

He leaned against his desk with his arms crossed, and she thoughts about that last time she was sitting on that desk, and he was kissing her neck. Penguin told here they were both just playing their parts; but suddenly she didn’t believe Penguin anymore.

It wasn’t just an act, from neither side. It _couldn’t_ be just an act.

She sat down, nervously playing with the fabric of her dress.

“I don’t know what to say.” she finally said, looking at his ridiculously handsome, tired face. “I… It’s been a while since I had a honest conversation about…”

“About what?” he asked, not moving. “Do go on. I’m all ears.”

“Penguin told me you _do_ care.” Charlie said anxiously. “About… About me. About us.”

“Ah, but that’s the problem, Charlie. There was never an _us_ to speak of. We were both just… Playing our parts. You played yours flawlessly, by the way. You almost fooled me into thinking I matter.” he said flatly; and before she knew it - she was crying.

“Because you _do_!” she sobbed out. “You do!”

( _and i believed i matter to you as well my darling my sweetest my love_ )

“I can’t do this.” he suddenly sighed. “I was planning to be unyielding and adamant, but… I just can’t do this. Come on. I want to give you a hug. _God_ you _stink_.” he groaned after she threw herself in his arms, hiding her face between his shoulder and his neck. “Long flight?”

“V-very.” she muttered, her face hidden. “You… You smell nice.”

“Alfred gave me some one of a kind cologne for birthday.” he said. “Custom made for me, yadda yadda. Told me to keep it for the most special occasions… So naturally first thing I did was to waste half a bottle instantly, because that damn bottle was more complicated than it looks.”

“I missed you.” she said, her voice muffled. “And I’m sorry. I… I…”

She started to tear up again; he walked her back to the chair and helped her sit down.

“I missed you too.” he said softly, handing her a box of tissues. “Even if… I feel like there’s a hidden agenda to you being here.”

It took her a moment to remember what did Penguin tell her about her money.

“I can give that up.” she said, sniffling quietly. “I can be broke.”

“Ah, reverse psychology.” he sighed. “Damn you, you devil in heels.”

“But I _mean_ it!” she said tearfully. “I can be broke! I still have some savings, and I can find a normal job-”

“And take a job away from someone who actually _needs_ it? Oh, Charlie.” he sighed. “I know all about your unfortunate affair and money that went missing. Also Penguin’s not great at keeping secrets.”

“S-so that’s it? We’re _fine_?”

“I don’t see why not.” he said, looking at her tenderly. “We both played our roles, but now the show’s over. Life’s still going on, and we’re still people outside out the roles we had to play in Victoria Vale’s crusade for vendetta and closure. Actors are still people outside of their scripts.”

“God.” she choked out through tears. “Why do you talk so _much_?”

“Because I know you like the sound of my voice. Oh!” he added seeing her surprised expression. “Right. So. You were drunkenly confessing to that guy in Australia. Penguin sent me a recording. What a thoughtful guy he is.”

“That’s… That’s invasive.”

“Well _I_ didn’t ask him to do it. But my point still stands - you were drunk, and you said you like the sound of my voice. So…”

“Fuck.” she muttered, wiping her tears away. “What _else_ did I tell George?”

“Luckily for you, he steered the conversation away from the sensitive topics.” Oswald said with a wink. “Come on, cheer up. You’ll get your money back.”

“That’s not why I’m here though!”

“Well? _Why_ are you here then?”

“Because it’s your birthday, and I wanted to at least wish you _happy birthday_ in person.” she said quietly. “Penguin seemed to think… It’s a good idea.”

“Penguin was right.” he said; and her heart skipped a beat. “Hey. You’ve calmed down. That’s good.”

“Or maybe I’m just _so_ stressed I’m shutting down.”

“Charlie. Look at me.”

She hesitantly looked at him; he was looking down at her with a gentle smile on his face.

“We were both pawns in Arkham’s game.” he said. “It was important for her to believe I have feelings for you. But the show’s now over, and my feelings… Are still _here_. Even though I know you probably lied about a _lot_ of things… I’m willing to take time to learn the truth about you. To get to know the _real_ you - and probably fall for her as well.”

She looked at him, unable to find any good words to express what she was feeling.

“God.” she finally choked out. “I love you.”

He laughed; and she started to cry again - but this time it was different. This time it was good.

***

He actually kissed her eventually; after she asked and after he made her wipe whatever the hell was leaking out of her nose away. He kissed her; and she melted feeling his hands on her back as he pulled her closer.

“I’m willing to fall for you all over again.” he assured her between the kisses. “Starting with _today_.”

“W… What?”

“It’s my birthday.” he reminded her. “Be my present. Penguin mentioned you wanted to ask me to teach you a thing or two about cooking.” he added, gently playing with her hair. “And then, if you’re willing… I could tell you a little secret.”

“What secret?”

“I don’t like being bossed around.” he said quietly - and her heart stopped. “There _are_ times when the world just feels too heavy, and I need someone to take control away from me, but in general… I don’t like being bossed around. It was pleasant when _you_ did it - but I also know _you_ don’t like bossing _others_ around.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” she said, her face red; and he laughed and leaned in.

“I know you liked it when I teased you.” he breathed out into her ear. “And when I left you on the edge. I know. I noticed.”

“Fine.” she surrendered. “You got me here. What _about_ it though? I only _just_ came back into your life. You’re… You’re too trusting.”

His hands on her back suddenly were _very_ distracting.

“One night stands are a thing.” he suggested, looking her in the eye. “No strings attached. Come on. _Please_?”

She laughed, giving in; it’s not like he _had_ to convince her. He was hot; and she was more than willing to swap roles, to be the helpless one, even if only for a night.

“Are you going to force an _I love you_ out of me tonight?”

“I’m not going to force _anything_ out of you. Come on now, love. If I’m supposed to teach you how to cook… I need ingredients.”

He pulled her out of the room, and she followed, her hand in his; and it felt good. It felt like love.

 


	6. vi

And that was it - just like that. There was no huge argument, no begging for forgiveness; she liked it that way. It felt as if nothing had ever happened, no failed revolution, no Victoria Arkham - finally it felt _really_ genuine.

He didn’t even question the fact her bags miraculously showed up at his place; and she didn’t question the fact petite-looking O’Keefe singlehandedly dealt with them. He only asked her to take a shower; and she obliged. She _really_ felt gross after her flight.

He sighed and said he loves her when she reached for sugar after he asked her if she knows how caramelizing carrots work. She laughed and told him the same when he made an offended noise after she asked him what’s the difference between spearmint and peppermint; but she did sigh afterwards.

“So is this how things are going to work? Are we going to pretend everything is normal, that we hadn’t been lying to each other from the start?”

“I told you already.” he said, stirring the risotto. “No hard feelings. I’m just glad you’re back.”

“But-”

He shut her up with risotto; it was great, like everything he made.

“We started out in an odd way.” he said as she chewed. “That’s just how it sometimes is. You said I’m important to you. That’s all I need, really. Put your conscience to sleep.”

“Don’t boss me around.” she grumbled; and he snickered.

“Oh, Charlie. I will boss you around _plenty_ tonight. That is… If you’re up for it.”

“What _exactly_ are you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to use your weapons against you, that’s all. Oh, I know! I can call you _a bad girl_ and say I’m _punishing_ you a lot. Will _that_ make you feel better?”

She laughed, shaking her head - even though, to be honest… She wasn’t _entirely_ against that idea. Naturally she was relieved he seemed to be so eager to welcome her back into his life, and proceed as if they were a normal couple - but she still felt _not great_ about leading him on, even though she already knew he was very well aware of what she was doing.

He tied her up after dinner - and it felt _incredible_. It wasn’t her first time being tied up; but she decided to consider it her first time. She was leaving her old life behind; and the sensation of his fingertips, combined with the rope, sent shivers down her spine. He started with wrapping a piece of rope around her waist - and then pulling it between her legs, pressing a knot tightly against the fabric of her underwear.

“Not too tight?”

“Mmm.”

She took a few steps.

“This is _terrible_.” she breathed out. “I love it.”

“Good. This will get you going.” he said with a wolfish smile. “Come on. Help me do the dishes.”

And she did; and afterwards her cheeks were hot and flushed - but he wasn’t satisfied yet.

“Ah, but I want you _desperate_. I want you to taste your own medicine.” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Remember how you once called me in the middle of the night just to make me listen to you _having fun_? And how you told me that if I hang up or say something I’ll regret it?”

“I do.” she said shakily; she really did. It was a _heat of a moment_ decision of sorts. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason, I let my thoughts wander for a moment. See, I _meant_ it when I said I actually enjoyed being bossed around by you. Wait, what was I…”

“You said you want me _desperate_.”

“Ah! Right. See, I want you desperate - so desperate you’ll agree to anything. And then, once I get you to agree to all manners of immoral things…”

“Such as?”

“Oh, you know. Money laundering, pyramid schemes, kickstarter frauds.” he said, waving his hand; and she laughed. “Once I get you to agree… I’m going to tie you up. And then the _real_ fun will begin.”

He was circling her with his hands behind his back.

“I’ve learned _so_ much about you.” he said lightly. “For instance, I can pinpoint when you are close to orgasm. After all, you made me watch _so_ many times… I memorized the way your expression changes, and the way your breath quickens.”

Well that was _exciting_ ; she gulped, her legs trembling - but then she _yawned_ , her body absolutely exhausted.

“Am I _boring_ you?”

“I’m sorry!” she said through the avalanche of yawns. “I think I need a nap…”

“You know what, maybe for the better.” he sighed. “Let’s not jump to sex straight after waltzing back into each other’s lives. And _please_ don’t say _sorry_.” he added, seeing her open her mouth. “No hard feelings. An act turned reality… Even if I can’t help but wonder, what if there would be no Vicki involved.”

She yawned; he laughed and pusher her in the direction of the guest bedroom.

“Awww.” she muttered. “I was hoping for _your_ bed.”

“That room’s a mess again.” he said, taking the rope off her. “Maybe another time.”

She fell down face down onto the bed; and only mumbled a _thank you_ as he pulled the blanket from underneath her.

***

He took a couple days off.

“The Gallery’s not _that_ necessary.” he informed her with a yawn. “I once celebrated my birthday for a month. Can do with a week as well.”

He really was acting as if nothing had happened; as if there were no lies involved, as if they really were just a gallery owner and a thief, and not actors in a grand spectacle carefully planned out by masked vigilantes.

So - she decided to let it go as well.

Selina - whom she called first thing in the morning - seemed to agree.

“Just take whatever you can, kitten. That’s my motto.”

“Sel, I’m not trying to _rob_ him.”

“Isn’t love but a daylight robbery? Something _real_ might blossom under fake circumstances as well.” Selina said with a sigh. “Just as long as you’re happy.”

“It means the end though. To you, and me…”

“You never liked that life. Stealing jewels is one things, stealing hearts… Let’s just say you just finished your last great heist. And I _know_ I’m going to come back to Gotham sooner or later.” Selina added in a light tone. “There’s something about this city… That’s just pulling me in, you know?”

“See you around, Sel.”

“See you around… Charlie.”

***

“Oswald?”

“Yes, love?”

“Do you _really_ don’t have anything against this thing?”

“We’ve talked about it.” he sighed. “Multiple times. And my answer’s still _no_ , by the way. You drunkenly admitted to your feelings to a complete stranger. You… _Cried_ when I was throwing you out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you _know_?”

“Because up until the end I had no idea I actually _mean_ something to you. Look, do we _have_ to be having this conversation right here, right now?” he asked. “Not that I mind, but… I was hoping to finally get my sweet, sweet revenge.”

“But I want to be _sure_.” she said as he was tying her hands up behind her back, same exact way _she_ always tied _his_ hands. “This is the last time. I promise.”

“I don’t believe your promises. Remember how you told me you’d be nice if I don’t say _please_ , and then you _weren’t_?”

“Oswald, I’m _serious_!”

“I know you are. Charlie, listen. You told me - repeatedly - there was a _lot_ of truth in who you presented yourself as. You cried when I kicked you out, you told some random stranger _there was someone in your life, and you messed it up beyond repair and you don’t want to think about it_. The question is… If _you_ are fine with the fact _you_ were being manipulated as well.”

“It wasn’t pleasant, thinking I’m going to break your heart for real.” she admitted. “I even considered telling you the truth, but…”

“The stakes were too high. S’alright. I get it.”

“I just wished I knew.” she sighed. “It’d spare me a lot of stress. Would you believe me?” she asked suddenly. “If you told me you know, and that you’re just playing your part… Would you believe me if I still told you I care? In private?”

“I don’t know.” he said, tightening the last knot. “It’d probably take some convincing, but I like to think that ultimately… I would believe you. And we’d be happy and you wouldn’t end up drunk in a seedy bar in Melbourne.”

“Convincing? Like what?”

“Like being as vulnerable as you are right now.” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders; he turned her around, so she was facing a mirror. “Love and trust and vulnerability all go hand in hand in my book.”

His voice dropped for a moment, and he sighed quietly.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” he said finally, as she was looking at their reflection. “Tight ropework suits you.”

“You think?”

“I _know_.” he said knowingly, and she laughed. “Come on. How do you feel about… Watching a movie?”

“But I can’t even eat popcorn with my hands tied.”

“I have two hands, and only one of them is going between your legs… For now, that is.”

His fingers were very effective - even if he only teased her lightly, absentmindedly, as if he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing.

Except he was; his every move was deliberate and calculated.

“You’re being loud.” he complained, his hand still between her legs. “Stop thrashing around so much!”

“Stop _teasing_!”

“I’m not teasing.” he protested, rubbing her gently through the fabric. “I’ve got no idea what are you talking about. Also thanks to you, I just lost the plot. Oh well. We can always just… Start again.”

“Don’t you _dare_.” she protested; that was exciting. It’s been a _long_ time since _she_ was an actual focus of anything; even if Oswald pretended nothing’s happening.

He was staring at her, and his expression made her squirm.

“Wait here.” he finally said, getting up from the couch. “I need… Three things.”

“Donuts, donut holes and glue?” she blurted out; he laughed, shaking his head.

“Let’s make it _four_ things. One… Just in case.”

“ _Hey_.” she said, after he went back into the room. “That wand’s _mine_.”

He was carrying more rope, a spreader bar - _of course_ he had a spreader bar - a cutesy magic wand massager she bought off Lovehoney back before she went to Australia, and-

“Are you going to gag me?”

“Maybe.” he said with a nonchalant shrug; but there was a faint glimmer of concern in his eyes. “What, do you-”

“Have something against?” she interrupted him. “I… Don’t, actually. Gag me, blindfold me… Do whatever you want. I’m all yours.” she blurted out.

“Ooh, someone’s feeling naughty.” he said lightly. “I didn’t know you’re _that_ kinky.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t know you own a spreader bar.”

“I almost never use it. I once went on a shopping spree and ended up with _so many_ things that seemed right.”

“Remember how you said you don’t mind finding out what kind of person I _really_ am?” she asked as he knelt down in front of her, slipping her feet and ankles through the cuffs and fastening the belts tightly. “Do… Do you like those new things so far?”

“ _New_?” he asked, looking up; he briefly rested his chin on her knee. “I _knew_ you’re into some more elaborate stuff. I simply didn’t know the exact specifics. It’s not like you’re into… Dead people, or trees.”

“ _Eww_.” she said. “How _did_ you know anyway? Everything I did was… An act, built around _you_.”

“Let’s just say I’m surprisingly good at reading people.” he said, reaching for the wand and the rope. “And you seemed to be _very_ into what we were doing. Some things can’t be faked… Even if now I know you seem to prefer being on the _other_ side.”

“That’s not true!” she protested; and he only rolled his eyes. “I _like_ bossing you around.”

“And I like _being_ bossed around by you.” he stated, looking up. “It’s… Refreshing, really. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate having you… Like this.”

He tied the wand to her thigh, leaving the switch uncovered; the pink head was lightly pressed to her clit. The only problem was-

“The cord’s not long enough.” Oswald sighed finally. “And I’m out of extensions.”

“It’s fine. I can do this on the floor.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s a chair nearby… And I don’t _mind_ tying and untying you a couple times.”

“Well _I_ do.” she grumbled as he was unlocking the cuffs and untying the rope around her thigh. “Too much anticipation, not enough action.”

“Oh, _hush_.”

He sat her down in a nearby chair - a regular, wooden chair with padded seat - and looked at her in silence for a moment.

“Legs over armrests, please.”

“My hands are tied. I’m not _that_ agile.”

She sighed and squirmed, feeling his hands on her thighs; but to no avail.

He put the spreader bar underneath the seat, so that it poked out from it on both sides of the chair; and when he tightened the cuffs around her ankles - no more bondage was needed.

“Do try to not squirm too much.” he warned her, again fastening the wand to her thigh. “Or the chair might tip and you might crack your pretty little head open.”

He flipped the switch and she sighed, squirming slightly; he then returned onto the couch and she was left with a vibrator set on low, pressed lightly against her. It was frustrating - and _very_ arousing, even if a part of her wished for _him_ instead of a toy, and she could definitely use something on her nipples as well, and-

“ _God_ you’re loud.” he said.

“Gag me then.”

“Why are you so hellbent on getting me to gag you?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Come on. Spill the beans.”

“N-no.”

“Come on, Charlie.” he said with a wink. “Play nice, and I’ll crank that thing up a notch.”

“I always told you to keep your hands to yourself because I felt like I might melt if you touch me too much.” she muttered, her thoughts slowly turning into a fog. “And I d- I don’t want to say _I love you_ by accident, i- in case you don’t believe…”

“Touching.” he said after a brief pause. “Don’t worry. I believe you.”

And - he didn’t move.

“You _promised_.”

“I’m using your own tricks against you, love. Be quiet now, or I’ll _really_ gag you.”

She sighed, her breath shaky.

Finally - an eternity later - he untied her from the chair. Her legs were shaky - and she could only really focus on that pulsating, tense wetness between her legs.

“How are you holding up?”

“I want to come.” she said mournfully, and he laughed. “Please.”

“First of all, that’s not what I want to hear.” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, leading her towards his bedroom. “Second of all… Just say _Bruce_ if you’ve had enough.”

“And what _do_ you want to hear?”

“More pleading.” he said, lightly pushing her towards the bed. “I just realized… I never fucked you.”

“That’s true.” she said, her cheeks flushed; she often thought about it, hell, she even made _plans -_ but an occasion never arose. “I-is that what you want to hear?”

“Not yet.” he said calmly. “For now… I don’t think you’re quite ready yet.”

“Get _fucked_.” she muttered, as he pushed her onto her back. “You fucking-”

His lips found her neck and his hand crept between her legs and his fingertips found her clit and suddenly speaking got very difficult as he kissed and nibbled and teased her gently, lightly, infuriatingly, maddeningly.

“Touch me… _Please_ …” she breathed out between quiet gasps.

“No.” he said equally quietly, to which she whined in frustration. “Don’t you want to know what _is_ going to happen though?”

“Y-yes.”

“First, I’m going to take those off you.” he said, lightly pulling the waistband of her undies and letting it snap against her skin. “Slowly. Then I’m going to tie your legs, nice and tight, so you don’t accidentally wiggle out. And then…”

He lightly grazed her thighs with his fingertips.

“Then I’m going to tease you some more. Until you’re begging for something _more_.”

“A-and if I beg?”

“Then I’m going to fuck you.” he said lightly; and he bit her ear lightly and she bucked her hips, feeling him slowly pull her underwear off. “But first, you thief… You need to learn to _ask_ for things you want.”

“Teach me then.” she said with a cheeky smile. “After all, at this point… _You_ have begging _mastered_.”

She bit him lightly as he kissed her; and she sighed with satisfaction as he tied her ankles to the bedposts, wide apart, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, open.

She was expecting him to use her main trick against her, and drive her wild with a brush, or something similar - but he opted for his fingers and his tongue instead. Only tied up she fully realized just how nimble his tongue is, and how gentle his fingers can be - and it was infuriating, watching him, his head between her thighs, his hands on her breasts. He’d work her up _so_ close to orgasm, _so_ close to the release she could practically feel it at the tip of her tongue - and then he’d stop.

And she couldn’t do _anything -_ she could only watch as his fingers crept down her torso and her stomach. Oh, he learned her body well; he knew _exactly_ when to stop.

It took him quite some time to get her to beg though.

“Please!” she pleaded, arching her back and writhing in fruitless frustration as he took his hand away _again_. “ _Please_!”

“Please _what_?” he asked calmly; she wondered where did that man who claimed he can’t say _no_ to her go. Not that she minded this new Oswald, calm and collected.

“Fuck me.” she said. “ _Please_. Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

“I’m not convinced.” he said, lightly stroking her sensitive, throbbing lips with his fingertips; just the lightest of flicks, up and down, constantly, lightly, teasingly. “I think I’m going to give you another hour. Hm? How does it sound?”

He spread her wide open with his thumb and middle finger, and circled her clit lightly, gently with the tip of his index finger. She gasped, and bit her lip, determined to this time not let him know she’s close-

“You can’t fool me.” he said, taking his hand away. “I’ve watched you far too many times.”

This time she almost cried - almost. She yelped and she shot him the most indignant, hurt look she could muster, all while pouting.

“Please.” she pleaded. “Just _fuck me_ already.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” he said, lightly patting her on her knee. “Also, speaking of _hard_ …”

“Ohhhh my god.” she groaned. “You _suck_ at dirty talk.”

“Keep talking back like this, and I’ll just strap a vibe on low to your clit and leave you alone.” he said, crossing his arms; she felt a pleasant shiver running down her spine. “How would you like _that_?”

“A lot, actually. Do go on though. You were talking about your dick..?”

He laughed and untied her legs; he then flipped her onto her stomach.

“Leave my ass alone.” she protested. “I don’t like that.”

“Noted.” he said, pulling her closer by her thighs; her left cheek was pressed into the mattress.

She wiggled her ass at him.

“Like what you see?” she asked. “Oh! Are you going to spank me?”

He spanked her lightly in response; and she laughed.

“Come on.” she urged him, still squirming. “I’m waiting.”

“I know.” he said, teasing her with his hand some more. “Patience.”

She could hear him getting out of his pants; and she could feel him grinding against her lightly, same way she used to when she was feeling particularly mean.

Finally he slid inside her, and she sighed with satisfaction; but it didn’t take her much time to realize something is missing. Her breath quickened when she understood; and she groaned in frustration.

She could feel his breath on her neck; he pulled her hair lightly, making her tilt her head back.

“I know you can’t cum when there’s nothing on your clit.” he breathed out into her ear; he was moving rhythmically, one hand on the mattress, the other - in her hair. “I’ve learned that much.”

He kissed her neck; he let go of her hair and straightened his back. His hands traveled down her body, along her sides; she stopped breathing for a moment when she felt his fingers in the soft crevices between her hips and her thighs.

His fingers crept towards her mound; and he grazed her lightly, not even brushing her clit.

“You _monster_.” she breathed out after he finally came; feeling him inside of her only made everything _worse_.

“Phrasing, darling, phrasing.” he said; even though she couldn’t see his face - she knew he’s grinning with satisfaction. “We never talked about you _coming_ , you only asked me to _fuck you_. By the way… It was worth the wait.”

She threw a pillow at him when he untied her hands.

“We should probably take a shower now.” he said, ignoring the pillow. “You’re _so_ sweaty. Not to worry though. I’ll wash _everything_ off you.”

He meant it; after she washed her hair he made her put her hands behind her head - and he took care of cleaning her body. She whimpered quietly when he washed her breasts; he pinched her nipples lightly a few times and then moved on. He washed her mound for her; his fingers slipped inside of her and she nearly fell down, her knees shaking.

“My god.” he said quietly, watching her, his eyes squinted slightly. “Are you desperate?”

“Yes.” she mewled out. “Please…”

“You look _so_ beautiful when you’re close to orgasm.”

“Please.” she still pleaded when he was wiping her with a towel. “ _Please_!”

“Do you love me?” he asked; and she groaned.

“I do, but I’ll also chop your dick off eventually.” she warned him; and he laughed.

“You know, you don’t look particularly intimidating outside of your domme getup. You’re still gorgeous though!” he added when she shot him an offended look. “But you’re also short… And I could stare at your bare lips forever, by the way. So… Pink.”

He was lightly pushing her towards the bathroom door; and she kept walking backwards, not taking her eyes off him; until she tripped.

He caught her; and threw her over his shoulder.

“Alright, this is enough.” he said as she squirmed. “I’m not _that_ heartless.”

He walked up to bed.

“Don’t put me back down.” she protested. “It’s all filthy and gross!”

“You’re breaking my heart, love. Also… Come on. The majority of my bedsheets is still squeaky clean.” he said, sounding hurt. “Surely you can spend a couple minutes here as I kiss your thighs-”

“Alright!” she interrupted him quickly. “Put me down.”

He laid her down on her back; she rested comfortably with all his - ridiculously fluffy - pillows behind her back.

“Now relax.” he said quietly.

It didn’t take much to get her going again; just a minute of two of him lightly massaging her mound, and kissing her neck and lightly teasing her nipples with his tongue. Finally his lips started to journey down; he peppered her skin with kisses and light bites, and she sighed with satisfaction when he pushed her thighs apart with his hands.

First he kissed the insides of her thighs; then he kissed her abdomen a couple times; and finally his lips found her warmth and she closed her eyes. It didn’t take much for her to come; but she still wasn’t satisfied, not even as she arched her back, gripping tightly at the bedsheets.

“I am not finished.” she panted out, her eyes half closed. “Get back here, handsome.”

It didn’t take much to get _him_ going again as well; and this time he didn’t hold her back.

They needed another shower afterwards. And one more after that.

That night they slept huddled together on the couch, because his bed was an absolute mess.

***

She got kidnapped a couple days after; she got her money back, just as Penguin had promised. Oswald reached out to his friends, pulled some strings - and just like that she was rich again, and she was getting ready to really, actually resume her life as Charlotte Schiller-Aberdeen, rather than a nameless, heartbreaking chameleon.

She went out for a walk as Oswald was taking care of formalities; she was glad everything seemed to - somehow - turn out fine between them, she was glad he was fine with giving her another chance, this time for something real. He was a good man; and she loved him.

And she got kidnapped shortly after getting her money back.

***

The man who kidnapped her had a familiar voice; but she couldn’t quite connect it with a person, her brain too preoccupied with stress. He gagged and blindfolded her; and she feared the worst when he taped her hands to her body.

He cut a lock of her hair; and she sat in the dark, petrified at the thought of the knife tracing a line down her body.

(It’s incredible how things we love can become our worst fears in a split second.)

She had no idea how much time had passed until she heard sounds of a struggle; and suddenly - nothing.

Finally someone took the blindfold off her and she blinked and squinted a few times; her face lit up once she recognized the familiar, penguin-skull shaped mask.

“Nice to see you as well.” he said, showing her a spray bottle. “Close your eyes. This will dissolve the tape. Just… Don’t lick your lips. Okay, you can do it now.” he added moments later, after carefully wiping her face with a wet cloth. “You seem to be in one piece.”

“Thank you.” she croaked out, her throat parched.

He got rid of rest of the tape, and gave her some water.

“Careful.” he warned her. “Small gulps.”

“What day is it?” she asked after setting the cup down.

“It’s still Thursday.” he said. “You went missing less than twenty four hours ago. I found your phone, by the way. The screen’s cracked, but it’s working.”

“I should let Oswald know.” she muttered, looking around. “Where _are_ we? Who-”

“Still in Gotham.” Penguin interrupted her. “Dixon Docks, to be precise. And Maximillian Zeus.”

“ _Zeus_?” she asked in disbelief. “But he-”

“Owned the building you live in? Yep. He considered himself screwed over by the insurance company.” Penguin said with a shrug. “That building was a hole. Zeus thought it was own a fortune. So… He decided to _get_ his fortune. What an idiot.” Penguin added in a weird tone. “Anyway. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“...did you kill Zeus?”

“Do you care?”

She looked at his hands; his dark gloves were bloodied.

“No.” she said, getting up, and almost falling down. “Uhm…”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“Do you offer this to every damsel in distress you rescue?” she asked as he picked her up.

“Only to those I’m especially fond of. Digger Harkness says hi, by the way.”

“Did you take the explosives off his junk?”

“...I knew I’m forgetting something.” Penguin muttered. “Eh, I’ll get to it _eventually_. Or wait for him to figure out I didn’t implement any reader into the bomb. It won’t know who’s disarming it. And he gets drunk _so_ often he’s bound to start tinkering with it eventually.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Penguin.”

“Never was a religious type.” he said; they left the warehouse where Zeus had holed up. “The good news is, no one stole my bike. The bad news is… It’s still a bike. So you have to hold tight. Or… Wait, no, nevermind. I have handcuffs. _And_ a spare helmet.”

She smiled, hearing him being _so_ nervous.

“Wait, you’re going to handcuff me?”

“So you don’t fall down.” he said defensively, handing her a spare mask; there was an urban legend, saying that the Penguin has a seemingly unlimited supply of all-resistant masks shaped after different animals. The legend came from the fact that soon after the Penguin had emerged, a whole bunch of other animal-themed violent peacekeepers did; the Hyena, the Raccoon, the Ox, the Mongoose.

And now he was handing her a mask shaped after the pinniped.

“Do you always carry it with you?”

“Better be safe than sorry.” he said, waiting for her to put it on. “Come on. I have a feeling Batman might _not_ be happy about what I did.”

“It just feels so abstract.” she muttered, sitting behind him and putting her arms around him. “Shouldn’t death phase me _more_?”

“Some people are just weird like that.” he said; he really put handcuffs on her wrists. “Off we go.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the building where Oswald lived; and Charlie’s mind was preoccupied with-

Well, mostly with how tired she was, to be honest. She figured that anxiety will come later; and that Penguin will surely have her back if Oswald will have any doubts about what happened.

“Wait.” she said, as Penguin was parking his bike in Oswald’s garage. “I know you two are pals, but… What if someone _sees_?”

“Charlie, I’m going to be absolutely honest with you.” he said, uncuffing her; she got off the bike and took the mask off. “I truly, genuinely believe you to be intelligent and smart, but this… This sort of ruins the impression.”

He started walking towards the elevator; and she followed, as fast as she could.

“What? _What_?” she asked desperately as they were entering the elevator. “I don’t understand. Please, explain.”

The elevator door closed behind them. Penguin took his mask off. He ran his - bloodied - fingers through his hair, before turning around to look at her with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.” Oswald said. “Didn’t want to make the reveal _too_ dramatic.”

Suddenly all the dots connected in her brain; and the picture they formed was penguin-shaped.

“...oh.” she said; and he scoffed.

“Oh?! _OH?!”_

“I’m tired and hungry!” she said defensively. “What do you even _want_ from me?”

“An actual response would be nice.”

“At least now I know _why_ was the Penguin _so_ intent on making me get back to Gotham.” she grumbled. “You could just be honest, you know. Find me in person. There was no need to involve your fursona in this.”

Oswald shot her a _very_ offended look.

What followed was an argument; a big one. A loud one. Everything they were bottling up - exploded; and up until that point Charlie didn’t know it’s possible to look and sound _this_ angry while making buttermilk pancakes.

She accused him of manipulating her into coming back; he retorted by saying he _knows_ about her drug-laced perfume and informed her that he actually _stole_ some from her and that when she called him the morning after - he was in the process of creating a counter-drug, to protect himself.

“And then I almost _overdosed_ on it! And guess what - I _still_ couldn’t say _no_ to you!”

They went on like this for a while, a couple of hours, probably.

Eventually she interrupted his tirade with a yawn.

“You know what?” he said, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “I’m done. This is stupid.”

“A-are you breaking up with me?” she asked hesitantly. “Oswald-”

“What? No, no. I’m done arguing about _this_.” he said, waving his hand. “We’ve talked about this. It’s all fine. _We_ are fine. I manipulated you from the start. You drugged me a couple times. We’re even.”

“Oswald, this is fucked up. _We_ are fucked up.”

“Yes we are!” he said, sighing. “I watched my father die and my mother get dragged to Arkham. I spend my free time as a - violent - vigilante. You spend years breaking hearts for money, after your own parents died after losing everything. We’re two truly, deeply messed up individuals. Our _circumstances_ are messed up. Come on now. I’m tired.”

And that was, more or less, it.

“Oswald?” she asked him before falling asleep; they were in his bed, and he had his arms wrapped around her.

“Mmmm?”

“Were you… Worried about me? Or did you think… Did you think I used you?”

“I was worried _sick_.” he muttered after a long pause. “Does it matter why? I was worried. All in all, I’m glad you’re in one piece. I love you, Charlie.”

“I’m going to _squeeze_ the truth out of you.”

“Uh-uh. Goodnight.”

“You stink. You forgot to take a shower.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered. “I do, I do, I do.”

And that was all that mattered.

 


End file.
